/ 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE 


Novels  by  Robert  W.  Chambers 

The  Gay  Rebellion 
The  Streets  of  Ascalon 
The  Common  Law 
Ailsa  Paige 
The  Green  Mouse 
lole 

The  Reckoning 
The  Maid-at-arms 
Cardigan 

The  Haunts  of  Men 
The  Mystery  of  Choice 
The  Cambric  Mask 
The  Maker  of  Moons 
The  King  in  Yellow 
In  Search  of  the  Un 
known 


The  Business  of  Life 

Blue-Bird  Weather 

Japonette 

The  Adventures  of  a 

Modest  Man 
The  Danger  Mark 
Special  Messenger 
The  Firing  Line 
The  Younger  Set 
The  Fighting  Chance 
Some  Ladies  in  Haste 
The  Tree  of  Heaven 
The  Tracer  of  Lost 

Persons 
A  Young  Man  in  a 

Hurry 
Lorraine 
Maids  of  Paradise 
Ashes  of  Empire 
The  Red  Republic 
Outsiders 


The  Conspirators 
A  King  and  a  Fevt 

Dukes 
In  the  Quarter 


140 


1 

...     : 


"  'I — yes.     Yes — I'll  be  ready 


(Page  317] 


The 
BUSINESS  OF  LIFE 


BY 

ROBERT   W.  CHAMBERS 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
CHARLES  DANA  GIBSON 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

1913 


COPYRIGHT,  1913,  BY 

ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 

Copyright,  1912,  by  the  INTERNATIONAL  MAGAZINE  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


TO 
ELSIE  CHAMBERS 

"  II  est  des  noeuds  secrets,  il  est  des  sympathies 
Dont  par  le  doux  rapport  les  ames  assorties 
S'attachent  Tune  a  1'autre  et  se  laissent  piquer 
Par  ces  je  ne  sais  quoi  qu'on  ne  peut  expliquer." 

RODOGUNE. 


912811 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"  'I— yes.    Yes— I'll  be  ready '  "  Frontispiece 

"  'A  lady  to  see  you,  sir'  "......          3 

"Now  and  then  she    .    .    .    halted  on  tip-toe  to 

lift  some  slitted  visor" 51 

"She  took  it    ...    then  read  aloud  the  device 

in  verse" 57 

"'Are   business   and   friendship   incompatible?''         71 
"  'There   are   nice   men,   too'  ".....        79 
"And  he  sat  thinking  of  Jacqueline  Nevers"      .        93 
"She  turned  leisurely    .    .    .    'Did  you  say  any 
thing  recently,  Mr.  Desboro?'  "      ...        116 
"Desboro  stood  staring  down  at  the  magic  pic 
ture.     Mrs.  Clydesdale,  too,  had  risen"  .       .      151 
"  'Which  is  the  real  pleasure?'  she  asked"      .       .      159 
"  'The  thing  to  do,'  he  said    ...    'is  for  us  both 

to   keep   very    busy'  ' 161 

"  'I — I  beg  your  pardon,'   said  Jacqueline"      .      181 
"There  was,  for  a  moment,  an  unconscious  and 

unwonted   grace   in   his   manner"      .       .       .      197 
"All  the  men  there  had  yielded  to  the  delicate 

attraction  of  her" 205 

"In  all  the  curious   eyes  turned  toward  her  he 

saw  admiration,  willing  or  conceded"      .       .      209 
"She   lost   herself   in   a   dreamy   Bavarian    folk 
song"  219 

vii 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

"Cheer  after  cheer  rang  through  the  hallway"      .      251 

"  'Business  is  kinder  to  men  than  women  some 
times  believe' " 273 

"  'Be  careful,'  he  said    .    .    .    'People  are  watch 
ing  us' " 277 

"Mr.  Waudle  gaped  at  her  like  a  fat  and  expiring 

fish ;  the  poet    .    .    .    said  not  a  word"  .      .      345 

"  'My  dear !'  she  exclaimed.     'What  a  perfectly 

charming  office !'"   '  . 358 

"She  turned  .  .  .  looked  back,  hesitated"  .  .  379 
"  'That's  how  hungry  I  am,  Jim.  I  warned  you'  "  385 
"  'It  was  rather  odd,  wasn't  it,  Jim?'  "  .  .  .395 
"'Why  don't  you  ask  your— wife?'"  ...  411 
"  'I  do  not  believe  you,'  she  said  between  her 

teeth" 419 

"What  was  she  to  do?     She  had  gone  half  mad 

with   fear"      . 427 

"  'Jacqueline — my  wife— is  the  result  of  a  dif 
ferent  training'  ' 441 

"In  the  rose  dusk  of  the  drawn  curtains  he  stood 

beside  it" 445 

"  'Now,'  she  said,  leaning  forward    .    .    .    'what 

is  the  meaning  of  this?'" 455 

"  'You    have    no    further    interest    in    me,    have 

you?'" 479 

"  'I — I  have  never  thought  mercilessly'  "  .  .  487 
"And,  as  she  rose,  he  was  still  figuring"  .  .  499 


Vlll 


THE  BUSINESS  OF  LIFE 


BUSINESS  OF  LIFE 


CHAPTER  I 

A  LADY  to  see  you,  sir,"  said  Farris. 
Desboro,  lying  on  the  sofa,  glanced  up  over 
his  book. 

"A  lady?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  who  is  she,  Farris?" 

"She  refused  her  name,  Mr.  James." 

Desboro  swung  his  legs  to  the  carpet  and  sat  up. 

"What  kind  of  lady  is  she?"  he  asked;  "a  perfect 
one,  or  the  real  thing?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir.     It's  hard  to  tell  these  days ;  one 
dresses  like  t'other." 

Desboro  laid  aside  his  book  and  arose  leisurely. 

"Where  is  she?" 

"In  the  reception  room,  sir." 

"Did  you  ever  before  see  her?" 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  James — what  with  her  veil  and 
furs " 

"How  did  she  come?" 

"In  one  of  Ransom's  hacks  from  the  station.    There's 
a  trunk  outside,  too." 

"What  the  devil " 

"Yes,  sir.     That's  what  made  me  go  to  the  door.   No- 

1 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

body  rang.  I  heard  the  stompin'  and  the  noise;  and 
I  went  out,  and  she  just  kind  of  walked  in.  Yes,  sir." 

"Is  the  hack  out  there  yet?" 

"No,  sir.  Ransom's  man  he  left  the  trunk  and 
drove  off.  I  heard  her  tell  him  he  could  go." 

Desboro  remained  silent  for  a  few  moments,  looking 
hard  at  the  fireplace;  then  he  tossed  his  cigarette  onto 
the  embers,  dropped  the  amber  mouthpiece  into  the 
pocket  of  his  dinner  jacket,  dismissed  Farris  with  a 
pleasant  nod,  and  walked  very  slowly  along  the  hall, 
as  though  in  no  haste  to  meet  his  visitor  before  he 
could  come  to  some  conclusion  concerning  her  identity. 
For  among  all  the  women  he  had  known,  intimately  or 
otherwise,  he  could  remember  very  few  reckless  enough, 
or  brainless  enough,  or  sufficiently  self-assured,  to  pay 
him  an  impromptu  visit  in  the  country  at  such  an  hour 
of  the  night. 

The  reception  room,  with  its  early  Victorian  furni 
ture,  appeared  to  be  empty,  at  first  glance;  but  the 
next  instant  he  saw  somebody  in  the  curtained  embra 
sure  of  a  window — a  shadowy  figure  which  did  not 
seem  inclined  to  leave  obscurity — the  figure  of  a  woman 
in  veil  and  furs,  her  face  half  hidden  in  her  muff. 

He  hesitated  a  second,  then  walked  toward  her;  and 
she  lifted  her  head. 

"Elena!"  he  said,  astonished. 

"Are  you  angry,  Jim?" 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I  didn't  know  what  to  do,"  said  Mrs.  Clydesdale, 
wearily,  "and  it  came  over  me  all  at  once  that  I  couldn't 
stand  him  any  longer." 

"What  has  he  done?" 

"Nothing.  He's  just  the  same — never  quite  sober — 

2 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

always  following  me  about,  always  under  foot,  always 
grinning — and  buying  sixteenth  century  enamels — and 

— I  can't  stand  it!     I "     Her  voice  broke. 

"Come  into  the  library,"  he  said  curtly. 


"  'A  lady  to  see  you,  sir'  " 

She  found  her  handkerchief,  held  it  tightly  against 
her  eyes,  and  reached  out  toward  him  to  be  guided. 

In  the  library  fireplace  a  few  embers  were  still  alive. 
He  laid  a  log  across  the  coals  and  used  the  bellows  until 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

the  flames  started.  After  that  he  dusted  his  hands, 
lighted  a  cigarette,  and  stood  for  a  moment  watching 
the  mounting  blaze. 

She  had  cast  aside  her  furs  and  was  resting  on  one 
elbow,  twisting  her  handkerchief  to  rags  between  her 
gloved  hands,  and  staring  at  the  fire.  One  or  two  tears 
gathered  and  fell. 

"He'll  divorce  me  now,  won't  he?"  she  asked  un 
steadily. 

"Why?" 

"Because  nobody  would  believe  the  truth — after 
this." 

She  rested  her  pretty  cheek  against  the  cushion  and 
gazed  at  the  fire  with  wide  eyes  still  tearfully  brilliant. 

"You  have  me  on  your  hands,"  she  said.  "What  are 
you  going  to  do  with  me?" 

"Send  you  home." 

"You  can't.  I've  disgraced  myself.  Won't  you 
stand  by  me,  Jim?" 

"I  can't  stand  by  you  if  I  let  you  stay  here." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  that  would  be  destroying  you." 

"Are  you  going  to  send  me  away?" 

"Certainly."  9 

"Where  are  you  going  to  send  me?" 

"Home." 

"Home !"  she  repeated,  beginning  to  cry  again.  "Why 
do  you  call  his  house  'home'?  It's  no  more  my  home 
than  he  is  my  husband " 

"He  is  your  husband!  What  do  you  mean  by  talk 
ing  this  way?" 

"He  isn't  my  husband.  I  told  him  I  didn't  care  for 
him  when  he  asked  me  to  marry  him.  He  only  grinned. 

4 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

It  was  a  perfectly  cold-blooded  bargain.  ll  didn't  sell 
him  everything!" 

"You  married  him." 

"Partly." 

"What!" 

She  flushed  crimson. 

"I  sold  him  the  right  to  call  me  his  wife  and  to — to 
make  me  so  if  I  ever  came  to — care  for  him.  That  was 
the  bargain — if  you've  got  to  know.  The  clergy  did 
their  part " 


"Do  you  mean " 

"Yes !"  she  said,  exasperated.  "I  mean  that  it  is  no 
marriage,  in  spite  of  law  and  clergy.  And  it  never 
will  be,  because  I  hate  him !" 

Desboro  looked  at  her  in  utter  contempt. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "what  a  rotten  thing  you 
have  done?" 

"Rotten!" 

"Do  you  think  it  admirable?" 

"I  didn't  sell  myself  wholesale.  It  might  have  been 
worse." 

"You  are  wrong.  Nothing  .worse  could  have  hap 
pened." 

"Then  I  don't  care  what  else  happens  to  me,"  she 
said,  drawing  off  her  gloves  and  unpinning  her  hat. 
"I  shall  not  go  back  to  him." 

"You  can't  stay  here." 

"I  will,"  she  said  excitedly.  "I'm  going  to  break 
with  him — whether  or  not  I  can  count  on  your  loyalty 

to  me "     Her  voice  broke  childishly,  and  she  bowed 

her  head. 

He  caught  his  lip  between  his  teeth  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  said  savagely: 

5 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"You  ought  not  to  have  come  here.  There  isn't  one 
single  thing  to  excuse  it.  Besides,  you  have  just  re 
minded  me  of  my  loyalty  to  you.  Can't  you  understand 
that  that  includes  your  husband?  Also,  it  isn't  in  me 
to  forget  that  I  once  asked  you  to  be  my  wife.  Do  you 
think  I'd  let  you  stand  for  anything  less  after  that? 
Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  blacken  my  own  face?  I 
never  asked  any  other  woman  to  marry  me,  and  this 
settles  it — I  never  will!  You've  finished  yourself  and 
your  sex  for  me!" 

She  was  crying  now,  her  head  in  her  hands,  and  the 
bronze-red  hair  dishevelled,  sagging  between  her  long, 
white  fingers. 

He  remained  aloof,  knowing  her,  and  always  afraid 
of  her  and  of  himself  together — a  very  deadly  com 
bination  for  mischief.  And  she  remained  bowed  in  the 
attitude  of  despair,  her  lithe  young  body  shaken. 

His  was  naturally  a  lightly  irresponsible  disposition, 
and  it  came  very  easily  for  him  to  console  beauty  in 
distress — or  out  of  it,  for  that  matter.  Why  he  was 
now  so  fastidious  with  his  conscience  in  regard  to  Mrs. 
Clydesdale  he  himself  scarcely  understood,  except  that 
he  had  once  asked  her  to  marry  him ;  and  that  he  knew 
her  husband.  These  two  facts  seemed  to  keep  him 
steady.  Also,  he  rather  liked  her  burly  husband;  and 
he  had  almost  recovered  from  the  very  real  pangs  which 
had  pierced  him  when  she  suddenly  flung  him  over  and 
married  Clydesdale's  millions. 

One  of  the  logs  had  burned  out.  He  rose  to  replace 
it  with  another.  When  he  returned  to  the  sofa,  she 
looked  up  at  him  so  pitifully  that  he  bent  over  and 
caressed  her  hair.  And  she  put  one  arm  around  his 
neck,  crying,  uncomforted. 

6 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"It  won't  do,"  he  said ;  "it  won't  do.  And  you  know 
it  won't,  don't  you  ?  This  whole  business  is  dead  wrong 
— dead  rotten.  But  you  mustn't  cry,  do  you  hear? 
Don't  be  frightened.  If  there's  trouble,  I'll  stand  by 
you,  of  course.  Hush,  dear,  the  house  is  full  of  serv 
ants.  Loosen  your  arms,  Elena!  It  isn't  a  square 
deal  to  your  husband — or  to  you,  or  even  to  me.  Un 
less  people  have  an  even  chance  with  me — men  or  women 
— there's  nothing  dangerous  about  me.  I  never  dealt 
with  any  man  whose  eyes  were  not  wide  open — nor 
with  any  woman,  either.  Gary's  are  shut;  yours  are 
blinded." 

She  sprang  up  and  walked  to  the  fire  and  stood  there, 
her  hands  nervously  clenching  and  unclenching. 

"When  I  tell  you  that  my  eyes  are  wide  open — that 
I  don't  care  what  I  do " 

"But  your  husband's  eyes  are  not  open!" 

"They  ought  to  be.  I  left  a  note  saying  where  I 
was  going — that  rather  than  be  his  wife  I'd  prefer  to 
be  your " 

"Stop!  You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about 
— you  little  idiot!"  he  broke  out,  furious.  "The  very 
words  you  use  don't  mean  anything  to  you — except 
that  you've  read  them  in  some  fool's  novel,  or  heard 
them  on  a  degenerate  stage " 

"My  words  will  mean  something  to  him,  if  I  can 
make  them !"  she  retorted  hysterically.  " — and  if  you 
really  care  for  me " 

Through  the  throbbing  silence  Desboro  seemed  to 
see  Clydesdale,  bulky,  partly  sober,  with  his  eternal 
grin  and  permanently-flushed  skin,  rambling  about 
among  his  porcelains  and  enamels  and  jades  and  ivories, 
like  a  drugged  elephant  in  a  bric-a-brac  shop.  And 

7 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

yet,  there  had  always  been  a  certain  kindly  harmless- 
ness  and  good  nature  about  him  that  had  always  ap 
pealed  to  men. 

He  said,  incredulously :  "Did  you  write  to  him  what 
you  have  just  said  to  me?" 

"Yes." 

"You  actually  left  such  a  note  for  him?" 

"Yes,  I  did." 

The  silence  lasted  long  enough  for  her  to  become  un 
easy.  Again  and  again  she  lifted  her  tear-swollen  face 
to  look  at  him,  where  he  stood  before  the  fire,  but  he 
did  not  even  glance  at  her;  and  at  last  she  murmured 
his  name,  and  he  turned. 

"I  guess  you've  done  for  us  both,"  he  said.  "You're 
probably  right;  nobody  would  believe  the  truth  after 
this." 

She  began  to  cry  again  silently. 

He  said:  "You  never  gave  your  husband  a  chance. 
He  was  in  love  with  you  and  you  never  gave  him  a 
chance.  And  you're  giving  yourself  none,  now.  And 
as  for  me" — he  laughed  unpleasantly — "well,  I'll  leave 
it  to  you,  Elena." 

"I — I  thought — if  I  burned  my  bridges  and  came 
to  you " 

"What  did  you  think?" 

"That  you'd  stand  by  me,  Jim." 

"Have  I  any  other  choice?"  he  asked,  with  a  laugh. 
"We  seem  to  be  a  properly  damned  couple." 

"Do — do  you  care  for  any  other  woman?" 

"No." 

"Then— then " 

"Oh,  I  am  quite  free  to  stand  the  consequences  with 

you." 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Will  you?" 

"Can  we  escape  them?" 

"You  could." 

"I'm  not  in  the  habit  of  leaving  a  sinking  ship,"  he 
said  curtly. 

"Then — you  will  marry  me — when "  She 

stopped  short  and  turned  very  white.  After  a  mo 
ment  the  doorbell  rang  again. 

Desboro  glanced  at  the  clock,  then  shrugged. 

"Wh — who  is  it?"  she  faltered. 

"It's  probably  somebody  after  you,  Elena." 

"It  can't  be.     He  wouldn't  come,  would  he?" 

The  bell  sounded  again. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  breathed. 

"Do?     Let  him  in." 

"Who  do  you  think  it  is?" 

"Your  husband,  of  course." 

"Then — why  are  you  going  to  let  him  in?" 

"To  talk  it  over  with  him." 

"But — but  I  don't  know  what  he'll  do.  I  don't  know 
him,  I  tell  you.  What  do  I  know  about  him — except 
that  he's  big  and  red?  How  do  I  know  what  might  be 
hidden  behind  that  fixed  grin  of  his?" 

"Well,  we'll  find  out  in  a  minute  or  two,"  said  Des 
boro  coolly. 

"Jim !     You  must  stand  by  me  now  !" 

"I've  done  it  so  far,  haven't  I?     You  needn't  worry." 

"You  won't  let  him  take  me  back !  He  can't,  can 
he?" 

"Not  if  you  refuse  to  go.  But  you  won't  refuse — if 
he's  man  enough  to  ask  you  to  return." 

"But — suppose  he  won't  ask  me  to  go  back?" 

"In  that  case  I'll  stand  for  what  you've  done.  I'll 

9 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

marry  you  if  he  means  to  disgrace  you.     Now  let's  see 
what  he  does  mean." 

She  caught  his  sleeve  as  he  passed  her,  then  let  it  go. 
The  steady  ringing  of  the  bell  was  confusing  and  ter 
rifying  her,  and  she  glanced  about  her  like  a  trapped 
creature,  listening  to  the  distant  jingling  of  chains  and 
the  click  of  bolts  as  Desboro  undid  the  outer  door. 

Silence,  then  a  far  sound  in  the  hall,  footsteps  com 
ing  nearer,  nearer;  and  she  dropped  stiffly  on  the  sofa 
as  Desboro  entered,  followed  by  Gary  Clydesdale  in  fur 
motor  cap,  coat  and  steaming  goggles. 

Desboro  motioned  her  husband  to  a  chair,  but  the 
man  stood  looking  at  his  wife  through  his  goggles,  with 
a  silly,  fixed  grin  stamped  on  his  features.  Then  he 
drew  off  the  goggles  and  one  fur  gauntlet,  fumbled  in 
his  overcoat,  produced  the  crumpled  note  which  she 
had  left  for  him,  laid  it  on  the  table  between  them,  and 
sat  down  heavily,  filling  the  leather  armchair  with  his 
bulk.  His  bare  red  hand  steamed.  After  a  moment's 
silence,  he  pointed  at  the  note. 

"Well,"  she  said,  with  an  effort,  "what  of  it!  It's 
true — what  this  letter  says." 

"It  isn't  true  yet,  is  it?"  asked  Clydesdale  simply. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

But  Desboro  understood  him,  and  answered  for  her 
with  a  calm  shake  of  his  head.  Then  the  wife  under 
stood,  too,  and  the  deep  colour  dyed  her  skin  from 
throat  to  brow. 

"Why  do  you  come  here — after  reading  that?"  She 
pointed  at  the  letter.  "Didn't  you  read  it?" 

Clydesdale  passed  his  hand  slowly  over  his  perplexed 
eyes. 

"I  came  to  take  you  home.     The  car  is  here." 

10 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Didn't  you  understand  what  I  wrote?  Isn't  it  plain 
enough?"  she  demanded  excitedly. 

"No.     You'd  better  get  ready,  Elena." 

"Is  that  as  much  of  a  man  as  you  are — when  I  tell 
you  I'd  rather  be  Mr.  Desboro's " 

Something  behind  the  fixed  grin  on  her  husband's 
face  made  her  hesitate  and  falter.  Then  he  swung 
heavily  around  and  looked  at  Desboro. 

"How  much  are  you  in  this,  anyway?"  he  asked,  still 
grinning. 

"Do  you  expect  an  answer?" 

"I  think  I'll  get  one." 

"I  think  you  won't  get  one  out  of  me." 

"Oh.     So  you're  at  the  bottom  of  it  all,  are  you?" 

"No  doubt.  A  woman  doesn't  do  such  a  thing  un- 
persuaded.  If  you  don't  know  enough  to  look  after 
your  own  wife,  there  are  plenty  of  men  who'll  apply 
for  the  job — as  I  did." 

"You're  a  very  rotten  scoundrel,  aren't  you?"  said 
Clydesdale,  grinning. 

"Oh,   so-so." 

Clydesdale  sat  very  still,  his  grin  unchanged,  and 
Desboro  looked  him  over  coolly. 

"Now,  what  do  you  want  to  do?  You  and  Mrs. 
Clydesdale  can  remain  here  to-night  if  you  wish.  There 
are  plenty  of  bedrooms " 

Clydesdale  rose,  bulking  huge  and  menacing  in  his 
furs ;  but  Desboro,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  con 
tinued  to  swing  one  foot  gently,  smiling  at  danger. 

And  Clydesdale  hesitated,  then  veered  around  to 
ward  his  wife,  with  the  heavy  movement  of  a  perplexed 
and  tortured  bear. 

"Get  your  furs  on,"  he  said,  in  a  dull  voice. 

11 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  go  home?" 

"Get  your  furs  on !" 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  go  home,  Gary?" 

"Yes.  Good  God !  What  do  you  suppose  I  came 
here  for?" 

She  walked  over  to  Desboro  and  held  out  her 
hand: 

"No  wonder  women  like  you.  Good-bye — and  if  I 
come  again — may  I  remain?" 

"Don't  come,"  he  said,  smiling,  and  holding  her  coat 
for  her. 

Clydesdale  strode  forward,  took  the  fur  garment 
from  Desboro's  hands,  and  held  it  open.  His  wife 
looked  up  at  him,  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  suffered 
him  to  invest  her  with  the  coat. 

After  a  moment  Desboro  said: 

"Clydesdale,  I  am  not  your  enemy.  I  wish  you  good 
luck." 

"You  go  to  hell,"  said  Clydesdale  thickly. 

Mrs.  Clydesdale  moved  toward  the  door,  her  husband 
on  one  side,  Desboro  on  the  other,  and  so,  along  the 
hall  in  silence,  and  out  to  the  porch,  where  the  glare 
of  the  acetylenes  lighted  up  the  frozen  drive. 

"It  feels  like  rain,"  observed  Desboro.  "Not  a  very 
gay  outlook  for  Christmas.  All  the  same,  I  wish  you 
a  happy  one,  Elena.  And,  really,  I  believe  you  could 
have  it  if  you  cared  to." 

"Thank  you,  Jim.  You  have  been  mistakenly  kind  to 
me.  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  be  crueller  some  day. 
Good-bye— till  then." 

Clydesdale  had  descended  to  the  drive  and  was  con 
ferring  with  the  chauffeur.  Now  he  turned  and  looked 
up  at  his  wife.  She  went  down  the  steps  beside  Des- 

12 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

boro,  and  he  nodded  good-night.  Clydesdale  put  her 
into  the  limousine  and  then  got  in  after  her. 

A  few  moments  later  the  red  tail-lamp  of  the  motor 
disappeared  among  the  trees  bordering  the  drive,  and 
Desboro  turned  and  walked  back  into  the  house. 

"That,"  he  said  aloud  to  himself,  "settles  the  damned 
species  for  me !  Let  the  next  one  look  out  for  herself !" 

He  sauntered  back  into  the  library.  The  letter  that 
she  had  left  for  her  husband  still  lay  on  the  table,  ap 
parently  forgotten. 

"A  fine  specimen  of  logic,"  he  said.  "She  doesn't  get 
on  with  him,  so  she  decides  to  use  Jim  to  jimmy  the 
lock  of  wedlock !  A  white  man  can  understand  the  Ori 
entals  better." 

He  glanced  at  the  clock,  and  decided  that  there  was 
no  sense  in  going  to  bed,  so  he  composed  himself  on  the 
haircloth  sofa  once  more,  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  be 
gan  to  read,  coolly  using  the  note  she  had  left,  as  a 
bookmark. 

It  was  dawn  before  he  closed  the  book  and  went  away 
to  bathe  and  change  his  attire. 

While  breakfasting  he  glanced  out  and  saw  that  it 
had  begun  to  rain.  A  green  Christmas  for  day  after 
to-morrow !  And,  thinking  of  Christmas,  he  thought  of 
a  girl  he  knew  who  usually  wore  blue,  and  what  sort  of 
a  gift  he  had  better  send  her  when  he  went  to  the  city 
that  morning. 

But  he  didn't  go.  He  called  up  a  jeweler  and  gave 
directions  what  to  send  and  where  to  send  it. 

Then,  listless,  depressed,  he  idled  about  the  great 
house,  putting  off  instinctively  the  paramount  issue — 
the  necessary  investigation  of  his  finances.  But  he  had 
evaded  it  too  long  to  attempt  it  lightly  now.  It  was 

13 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

only  a  question  of  days  before  he'd  have  to  take  up  in 
deadly  earnest  the  question  of  how  to  pay  his  debts. 
He  knew  it ;  and  it  made  him  yawn  with  disgust. 

After  luncheon  he  wrote  a  letter  to  one  Jean  Louis 
Nevers,  a  New  York  dealer  in  antiques,  saying  that  he 
would  drop  in  some  day  after  Christmas  to  consult  Mr. 
Nevers  on  a  matter  of  private  business. 

And  that  is  as  far  as  he  got  with  his  very  vague 
plan  for  paying  off  an  accumulation  of  debts  which,  at 
last,  were  seriously  annoying  him. 

The  remainder  of  the  day  he  spent  tramping  about 
the  woods  of  Westchester  with  a  pack  of  nondescript 
dogs  belonging  to  him.  He  liked  to  walk  in  the  rain; 
he  liked  his  mongrels. 

In  the  evening  he  resumed  his  attitude  of  unstudied 
elegance  on  the  sofa,  also  his  book,  using  Mrs.  Clydes 
dale's  note  again  to  mark  his  place. 

Mrs.  Quant  ventured  to  knock,  bringing  some  "magic 
drops,"  which  he  smilingly  refused.  Farris  announced 
dinner,  and  he  dined  as  usual,  surrounded  by  dogs  and 
cats,  all  very  cordial  toward  the  master  of  Silverwood, 
who  was  unvaryingly  so  just  and  so  kind  to  them. 

After  dinner  he  lighted  a  pipe,  thought  idly  of  the 
girl  in  blue,  hoped  she'd  like  his  gift  of  aquamarines, 
and  picked  up  his  book  again,  yawning. 

He  had  had  about  enough  of  Silverwood,  and  he  was 
realising  it.  He  had  had  more  than  enough  of  women, 
too. 

The  next  day,  riding  one  of  his  weedy  hunters  over 
Silverwood  estate,  he  encountered  the  daughter  of  a 
neighbor,  an  old  playmate  of  his  when  summer  days 
were  half  a  year  long,  and  yesterdays  immediately  be 
came  embedded  in  the  middle  of  the  middle  ages. 

14 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

She  was  riding  a  fretful,  handsome  Kentucky  three- 
year-old,  and  sitting  nonchalantly  to  his  exasperating 
and  jiggling  gait. 

The  girl  was  one  Daisy  Hammerton — the  sort  men 
call  "square"  and  "white,"  and  a  "good  fellow";  but 
she  was  softly  rounded  and  dark,  and  very  feminine. 

She  bade  him  good  morning  in  a  friendly  voice ;  and 
her  voice  and  manner  might  well  have  been  different,  for 
Desboro  had  not  behaved  very  civilly  toward  her  or  to 
ward  her  family,  or  to  any  of  his  Westchester  neigh 
bors  for  that  matter;  and  the  rumours  of  his  behaviour 
in  New  York  were  anything  but  pleasant  to  a  young 
girl's  ears.  So  her  cordiality  was  the  more  to  her 
credit. 

He  made  rather  shame-faced  inquiries  about  her  and 
her  parents,  but  she  lightly  put  him  at  his  ease,  and 
they  turned  into  the  woods  together  on  the  old  and  un 
embarrassed  terms  of  comradeship. 

"Captain  Herrendene  is  back.  Did  you  know  it?" 
she  asked. 

"Nice  old  bird,"  commented  Desboro.  "I  must  look 
him  up.  Where  did  he  come  from — Luzon?" 

"Yes.  He  wrote  us.  Why  don't  you  ask  him  up  for 
the  skating,  Jim?" 

"What  skating?"  said  Desboro,  with  a  laugh.  "It 
will  be  a  green  Christmas,  Daisy — it's  going  to  rain 
again.  Besides,"  he  added,  "I  shan't  be  here  much 
longer." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry." 

He  reddened.  "You  always  were  the  sweetest  thing 
in  Westchester.  Fancy  your  being  sorry  that  I'm  going 
back  to  town  when  I've  never  once  ridden  over  to  see 
you  as  long  as  I've  been  here!" 

15 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

She  laughed.  "We've  known  each  other  too  long  to 
let  such  things  make  any  real  difference.  But  you  have 
been  a  trifle  negligent." 

"Daisy,  dear,  I'm  that  way  in  everything.  If  any 
body  asked  me  to  name  the  one  person  I  would  not 
neglect,  I'd  name  you.  But  you  see  what  happens — 
even  to  you !  I  don't  know — I  don't  seem  to  have  any 
character.  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with 
me " 

"I'm  afraid  that  you  have  no  beliefs,  Jim." 

"How  can  I  have  any  when  the  world  is  so  rotten 
after  nineteen  hundred  years  of  Christianity?" 

"I  have  not  found  it  rotten." 

"No,  because  you  live  in  a  clean  and  wholesome 
circle." 

"Why  don't  you,  too?  You  can  live  where  you 
please,  can't  you?" 

He  laughed  and  waved  his  hand  toward  the  hori 
zon. 

"You  know  what  the  Desboros  have  always  been. 
You  needn't  pretend  you  don't.  All  Westchester  has 
it  in  for  us.  But  relief  is  in  sight,"  he  added,  with 
mock  seriousness.  "I'm  the  last  of  'em,  and  your  chil 
dren,  Daisy,  won't  have  to  endure  the  morally  painful 
necessity  of  tolerating  anybody  of  my  name  in  the 
county." 

She  smiled:  "Jim,  you  could  be  so  nice  if  you  only 
would." 

"What !     With  no  beliefs  ?" 

"They're  so  easily  acquired." 

"Not  in  New  York  town,  Daisy." 

"Perhaps  not  among  the  people  you  affect.  But 
such  people  really  count  for  so  little — they  are  only  a 

1C 


THE  BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

small  but  noisy  section  of  a  vast  and  quiet  and  whole 
some  community.  And  the  noise  and  cynicism  are  both 
based  on  idleness,  Jim.  Nobody  who  is  busy  is  desti 
tute  of  beliefs.  Nobody  who  is  responsible  can  avoid 
ideals." 

"Quite  right,"  he  said.  "I  am  idle  and  irresponsible. 
But,  Daisy,  it's  as  much  part  of  me  as  are  my  legs  and 
arms,  and  head  and  body.  I  am  not  stupid;  I  have 
plenty  of  mental  resources;  I  am  never  bored;  I  enjoy 
my  drift  through  life  in  an  empty  tub  as  much  as  the 
man  who  pulls  furiously  through  it  in  a  rowboat  loaded 
with  ambitions,  ballasted  with  brightly  moral  resolves, 
and  buffeted  by  the  cross  seas  of  duty  and  conscience. 
That's  rather  neat,  isn't  it?" 

"You  can't  drift  safely  very  long  without  ballast," 
said  the  girl,  smiling. 

"Watch  me." 

She  did  not  answer  that  she  had  been  watching  him 
for  the  last  few  years,  or  tell  him  how  it  had  hurt  her 
to  hear  his  name  linked  with  the  gossip  of  fashionably 
vapid  doings  among  idle  and  vapid  people.  For 
his  had  been  an  inheritance  of  ability  and  cul 
ture,  and  the  leisure  to  develop  both.  Out  of 
idleness  and  easy  virtue  had  at  last  emerged  three  gen 
erations  of  Desboros  full  of  energy  and  almost  ruthless 
ability — his  great-grandfather,  grandfather  and  father 
— but  he,  the  fourth  generation,  was  throwing  back  into 
the  melting  pot  all  that  his  father  and  grandfathers 
had  carried  from  it — even  the  material  part  of  it. 
Land  and  fortune,  were  beginning  to  disappear,  to 
gether  with  the  sturdy  mental  and  moral  qualities  of  a 
race  that  had  almost  overcome  its  vicious  origin  under 
the  vicious  Stuarts.  Only  the  physical  stamina  as  yet 

17 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

seemed  to  remain  intact ;  for  Desboro  was  good  to  look 
upon. 

"An  odd  thing  happened  the  other  night — or,  rather, 
early  in  the  morning,"  she  said.  "We  were  awakened 
by  a  hammering  at  the  door  and  a  horn  blowing — and 
guess  who  it  was?" 

"Not  Gabriel — though  you  look  immortally  angelic 
to-day " 

"Thank  you,  Jim.  No ;  it  was  Gary  and  Elena 
Clydesdale,  saying  that  their  car  had  broken  down. 
What  a  ridiculous  hour  to  be  motoring !  Elena  was 
half  dead  with  the  cold,  too.  It  seems  they'd  been  to 
a  party  somewhere  and  were  foolish  enough  to  try  to 
motor  back  to  town.  They  stopped  with  us  and  took 
the  noon  train  to  town.  Elena  told  me  to  give  you  her 
love ;  that's  what  reminded  me." 

"Give  her  mine  when  you  see  her,"  he  said  pleasantly. 

When  he  returned  to  his  house  he  sat  down  with  a 
notion  of  trying  to  bring  order  out  of  the  chaos  into 
which  his  affairs  had  tumbled.  But  the  mere  sight  of 
his  desk,  choked  with  unanswered  letters  and  unpaid 
bills,  sickened  him,  and  he  threw  himself  on  the  sofa 
and  picked  up  his  book,  determined  to  rid  himself  of 
Silverwood  House  and  all  its  curious,  astonishing  and 
costly  contents. 

"Tell  Riley  to  be  on  hand  Monday,"  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Quant  that  evening.  "I  want  the  cases  in  the  wing 
rooms  and  the  stuff  in  the  armoury  cleaned  up,  because 
I  expect  a  Mr.  Nevers  to  come  here  and  recatalogue  the 
entire  collection  next  week." 

"Will  you  be  at  home,  Mr.  James?"  she  asked  anx 
iously. 

18 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 


<o 


'No.  I'm  going  South,  duck-shooting.  See  that 
Mr.  Nevers  is  comfortable  if  he  chooses  to  remain  here; 
for  it  will  take  him  a  week  or  two  to  do  his  work  in  the 
armoury,  I  suppose.  So  you'll  have  to  start  both  fur 
naces  to-morrow,  and  keep  open  fires  going,  or  the  man 
will  freeze  solid.  You  understand,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  sir.  And  if  you  are  going  away,  Mr.  James, 
I  could  pack  a  little  bottle  of  'magic  drops' " 

"By  all  means,"  he  said,  with  good-humoured  resig 
nation. 

He  spent  the  evening  fussing  over  his  guns  and  am 
munition,  determined  to  go  to  New  York  in  the  morn- 
in.  But  he  didn't;  indecision  had  become  a  habit;  he 
knew  it,  wondered  a  little  at  himself  for  his  lack  of 
decision. 

He  was  deadly  weary  of  Silverwood,  but  too  lazy  to 
leave;  and  it  made  him  think  of  the  laziest  dog  on  rec 
ord,  who  yelped  all  day  because  he  had  sat  down  on  a 
tack  and  was  too  lazy  to  get  up. 

So  it  was  not  until  the  middle  of  Christmas  week 
that  Desboro  summoned  up  sufficient  energy  to  start 
for  New  York.  And  when  at  last  he  was  on  the  train, 
he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  wouldn't  return  to  Silver- 
wood  in  a  hurry. 

But  that  plan  was  one  of  the  mice-like  plans  men 
make  so  confidently  under  the  eternal  skies. 


CHAPTER  II 

DESBORO  arrived  in  town  on  a  late  train.  It 
was  raining,  so  he  drove  to  his  rooms,  ex 
changed  his  overcoat  for  a  raincoat,  and  went 
out  into  the  downpour  again,  undisturbed,  disdaining 
an  umbrella. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  vigorous  walking  he  came 
to  the  celebrated  antique  shop  of  Louis  Nevers,  and 
entered,  letting  in  a  gust  of  wind  and  rain  at  his  heels. 

Everywhere  in  the  semi-gloom  of  the  place  objects 
loomed  mysteriously,  their  outlines  lost  in  shadow  ex 
cept  where,  here  and  there,  a  gleam  of  wintry  daylight 
touched  a  jewel  or  fell  across  some  gilded  god,  lotus- 
throned,  brooding  alone. 

When  Desboro's  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  ob 
scurity,  he  saw  that  there  was  armour  there,  complete 
suits,  Spanish  and  Milanese,  and  an  odd  Morion  or  two ; 
and  there  were  jewels  in  old-time  settings,  tapestries, 
silver,  ivories,  Hispano-Moresque  lustre,  jades,  crystals. 

The  subdued  splendour  of  Chinese  and  Japanese  ar 
mour,  lacquered  in  turquoise,  and  scarlet  and  gold, 
glimmered  on  lay  figures  masked  by  grotesque  helmets ; 
an  Ispahan  rug,  softly  luminous,  trailed  across  a  table 
beside  him,  and  on  it  lay  a  dead  Sultan's  scimitar, 
curved  like  the  new  moon,  its  slim  blade  inset  with  magic 
characters,  the  hilt  wrought  as  delicately  as  the  folded 
frond  of  a  fern,  graceful,  exquisite,  gem-incrusted. 

There  were  a  few  people  about  the  shop,  customers 

20 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

and  clerks,  moving  shapes  in  the  dull  light.  Presently 
a  little  old  salesman  wearing  a  skull  cap  approached 
him. 

"Rainy  weather  for  Christmas  week,  sir.  Can  I  be 
of  service?" 

"Thanks,"  said  Desboro.  "I  came  here  by  appoint 
ment  on  a  matter  of  private  business." 

"Certainly,  sir.  I  think  Miss  Nevers  is  not  engaged. 
Kindly  give  me  your  card  and  I  will  find  out." 

"But  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Nevers  himself." 

"Mr.  Nevers  is  dead,  sir." 

"Oh !    I  didn't  know " 

"Yes,  sir.  Mr.  Nevers  died  two  years  ago."  And, 
as  Desboro  remained  silent  and  thoughtful:  "Perhaps 
you  might  wish  to  see  Miss  Nevers?  She  has  charge  of 
everything  now,  including  all  our  confidential  affairs." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Desboro  pleasantly,  "but  this  is  an 
affair  requiring  personal  judgment  and  expert  ad 
vice " 

"I  understand,  sir.  The  gentlemen  who  came  to  see 
Mr.  Nevers  about  matters  requiring  expert  opinions 
now  consult  Miss  Nevers  personally." 

"Who  is  Miss  Nevers?" 

"His  daughter,  sir."  He  added,  with  quaint  pride: 
"The  great  jewelers  of  Fifth  Avenue  consult  her;  ex 
perts  in  our  business  often  seek  her  advice.  The  Mu 
seum  authorities  have  been  pleased  to  speak  highly  of 
her  monograph  on  Hurtado  de  Mendoza." 

Desboro  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  gave  his  card 
to  the  old  salesman,  who  trotted  away  with  it  down  the 
unlighted  vista  of  the  shop. 

The  young  man's  pleasantly  indifferent  glance  rested 
on  one  object  after  another,  not  unintelligently,  but 

21 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

without  particular  interest.  Yet  there  were  some  very 
wonderful  and  very  rare  and  beautiful  things  to  be 
seen  in  the  celebrated  shop  of  the  late  Jean  Louis 
Nevers. 

So  he  stood,  leaning  on  his  walking  stick,  the  up 
turned  collar  of  his  raincoat  framing  a  face 
which  was  too  colourless  and  worn  for  a  man  of 
his  age ;  and  presently  the  little  old  salesman  came 
trotting  back,  the  tassel  on  his  neat  silk  cap  bobbing 
with  every  step. 

"Miss  Nevers  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you  in  her 
private  office.  This  way,  if  you  please,  sir." 

Desboro  followed  to  the  rear  of  the  long,  dusky  shop, 
turned  to  the  left  through  two  more  rooms  full  of 
shadowy  objects  dimly  discerned,  then  traversed  a  tiled 
passage  to  where  electric  lights  burned  over  a  door 
way. 

The  old  man  opened  the  door;  Desboro  entered  and 
found  himself  in  a  square  picture  gallery,  lighted  from 
above,  and  hung  all  around  with  dark  velvet  curtains  to 
protect  the  pictures  on  sale.  As  he  closed  the  door  be 
hind  him  a  woman  at  a  distant  desk  turned  her  head, 
but  remained  seated,  pen  poised,  looking  across  the 
room  at  him  as  he  advanced.  Her  black  gown  blended 
so  deceptively  with  the  hangings  that  at  first  he  could 
distinguish  only  the  white  face  and  throat  and  hands 
against  the  shadows  behind  her. 

"Will  you  kindly  announce  me  to  Miss  Nevers?"  he 
said,  looking  around  for  a  chair. 

"I  am  Miss  Nevers." 

She  closed  the  ledger  in  which  she  had  been  writing, 
laid  aside  her  pen  and  rose.  As  she  came  forward  he 
found  himself  looking  at  a  tall  girl,  slim  to  thinness, 


THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

except  for  the  rounded  oval  of  her  face  under  a  loose 
crown  of  yellow  hair,  from  which  a  stray  lock  sagged 
untidily,  curling  across  her  cheek. 

He  thought:  "A  blue-stocking  prodigy  of  learning, 
with  her  hair  in  a  mess,  and  painted  at  that."  But  he 
said  politely,  yet  with  that  hint  of  idle  amusement  in 
his  voice  which  often  sounded  through  his  speech  with 
women : 

"Are  you  the  Miss  Nevers  who  has  taken  over  this 
antique  business,  and  who  writes  monographs  on  Hur- 
tado  de  Mendoza?" 

"Yes." 

"You  appear  to  be  very  young  to  succeed  such  a  dis 
tinguished  authority  as  your  father,  Miss  Nevers." 

His  observation  did  not  seem  to  disturb  her,  nor  did 
the  faintest  hint  of  mockery  in  his  pleasant  voice.  She 
waited  quietly  for  him  to  state  his  business. 

He  said:  "I  came  here  to  ask  somebody's  advice 
about  engaging  an  expert  to  appraise  and  catalogue 
my  collection." 

And  even  while  he  was  speaking  he  was  conscious 
that  never  before  had  he  seen  such  a  white  skin  and 
such  red  lips — if  they  were  natural.  And  he  began  to 
think  that  they  might  be. 

He  said,  noticing  the  bright  lock  astray  on  her  cheek 
once  more: 

"I  suppose  that  I  may  speak  to  you  in  confidence — 
just  as  I  would  have  spoken  to  your  father." 

She  was  still  looking  at  him  with  the  charm  of  youth 
ful  inquiry  in  her  eyes. 

"Certainly,"  she  said. 

She  glanced  down  at  his  card  which  still  lay  on  her 
blotter,  stood  a  moment  with  her  hand  resting  on  the 

23 


THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

desk,   then   indicated  a  chair   at  her  elbow  and  seated 
herself. 

He  took  the  chair. 

"I  wrote  you  that  I'd  drop  in  sometime  this  week. 
The  note  was  directed  to  your  father.  I  did  not  know 
he  was  not  living." 

"You  are  the  Mr.  Desboro  who  owns  the  collection 
of  armour?"  she  asked. 

"I  am  that  James  Philip  Desboro  who  lives  at  Silver- 
wood,"  he  said.  "Evidently  you  have  heard  of  the 
Desboro  collection  of  arms  and  armour." 

"Everybody  has,  I  think." 

He  said,  carelessly:  "Museums,  amateur  collectors, 
and  students  know  it,  and  I  suppose  most  dealers  in 
antiques  have  heard  of  it." 

"Yes,  all  of  them,  I  believe." 

"My  house,"  he  went  on,  "Silverwood,  is  in  darkest 
Westchester,  and  my  recent  grandfather,  who  made  the 
collection,  built  a  wing  to  contain  it.  It's  there  as  he 
left  it.  My  father  made  no  additions  to  it.  Nor,"  he 
added,  "have  I.  Now  I  want  to  ask  you  whether  a  lot 
of  those  things  have  not  increased  in  value  since  my 
grandfather's  day?" 

"No  doubt." 

"And  the  collection  is  valuable?" 

"I  think  it  must  be— very." 

"And  to  determine  its  value  I  ought  to  have  an  ex 
pert  go  there  and  catalogue  it  and  appraise  it  ?" 

"Certainly." 

"Who?     That's  what  I've  come  here  to  find  out." 

"Perhaps  you  might  wish  us  to  do  it." 

"Is  that  still  part  of  }Tour  business?" 

"It  is." 

24 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Well,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  thought,  "I  am 
going  to  sell  the  Dcsboro  collection." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry !"  she  exclaimed,  under  her  breath ; 
and  looked  up  to  find  him  surprised  and  beginning  to 
be  amused  again. 

"Your  attitude  is  not  very  professional — for  a  dealer 
in  antiques,"  he  said  quizzically. 

"I  am  something  else,  too,  Mr.  Desboro."  She  had 
flushed  a  little,  not  responding  to  his  lighter  tone. 

"I  am  very  sure  you  are,"  he  said.  "Those  who 
really  know  about  and  care  for  such  collections  must 
feel  sorry  to  see  them  dispersed." 

"I  had  hoped  that  the  Museum  might  have  the  Des 
boro  collection  some  day,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

He  said :  "I  am  sorry  it  is  not  to  be  so,"  and  had  the 
grace  to  redden  a  trifle. 

She  played  with  her  pen,  wraiting  for  him  to  con 
tinue  ;  and  she  was  so  young,  and  fresh,  and  pretty  that 
he  was  in  no  hurry  to  finish.  Besides,  there  was  some 
thing  about  her  face  that  had  been  interesting  him — 
an  expression  which  made  him  think  sometimes  that  she 
was  smiling,  or  on  the  verge  of  it.  But  the  slightly 
upcurled  corners  of  her  mouth  had  been  fashioned  so 
by  her  Maker,  or  perhaps  had  become  so  from  some 
inborn  gaiety  of  heart,  leaving  a  faint,  sweet  imprint 
on  her  lips. 

To  watch  her  was  becoming  a  pleasure.  He  won 
dered  what  her  smile  might  be  like — all  the  while  pre 
tending  an  absent-minded  air  which  cloaked  his  idle 
curiosity. 

She  waited,  undisturbed,  for  him  to  come  to  some 
conclusion.  And  all  the  while  he  was  thinking  that  her 
lips  were  perhaps  just  a  trifle  too  full — that  there  was 

25 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

more  of  Aphrodite  in  her  face  than  of  any  saint  he  re 
membered;  but  her  figure  was  thin  enough  for  any 
saint.  Perhaps  a  course  of  banquets — perhaps  a 
regime  under  a  diet  list  warranted  to  improve 

"Did  you  ever  see  the  Desboro  collection,  Miss  Nev- 
ers?"  he  asked  vaguely. 

"No." 

"What  expert  will  you  send  to  catalogue  and  ap 
praise  it?" 

"7  could  go." 

"You !"  he  said,  surprised  and  smiling. 

"That  is  my  profession." 

"I  knew,  of  course,  that  it  was  your  father's.  But 
I  never  supposed  that  you ': 

"Did  you  wish  to  have  an  appraisement  made,  Mr. 
Desboro?"  she  interrupted  dryly. 

"Why,  yes,  I  suppose  so.  Otherwise,  I  wouldn't  know 
what  to  ask  for  anything." 

"Have  you  really  decided  to  sell  that  superb  collec 
tion?"  she  demanded. 

"What  else  can  I  do?"  he  inquired  gayly.  "I  sup 
pose  the  Museum  ought  to  have  it,  but  I  can't  afford  to 
give  it  away  or  to  keep  it.  In  other  words — and  brutal 
ones — I  need  money." 

She  said  gravely:     "I  am  sorry." 

And  he  knew  she  didn't  mean  that  she  was  sorry  be 
cause  he  needed  money,  but  because  the  Museum  was 
not  to  have  the  arms,  armour,  jades,  and  ivories.  Yet, 
somehow,  her  "I  am  sorry"  sounded  rather  sweet  to  him. 

For  a  while  he  sat  silent,  one  knee  crossed  over  the 
other,  twisting  the  silver  crook  of  his  stick.  From  mo 
ment  to  moment  she  raised  her  eyes  from  the  blotter  to 
let  them  rest  inquiringly  on  him,  then  went  on  tracing 

26 


THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

arabesques  over  her  blotter  with  an  inkless  pen.  One 
slender  hand  was  bracketed  on  her  hip,  and  he  noticed 
the  fingers,  smooth  and  rounded  as  a  child's.  Nor 
could  he  keep  his  eyes  from  her  profile,  with  its  deli 
cate,  short  nose,  ever  so  slightly  arched,  and  its  lips, 
just  a  trifle  too  sensuous — and  that  soft  lock  astray 
again  against  her  cheek.  No,  her  hair  was  not  dyed, 
either.  And  it  was  as  though  she  divined  his  thought, 
for  she  looked  up  suddenly  from  her  blotter  and  he 
instantly  gazed  elsewhere,  feeling  guilty  and  imperti 
nent — sentiments  not  often  experienced  by  that  young 
man. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Miss  Nevers,"  he  con 
cluded,  "I'll  write  you  a  letter  to  my  housekeeper, 
Mrs.  Quant.  Shall  I?  And  you'll  go  up  and  look 
over  the  collection  and  let  me  know  what  you  think 
of  it!" 

"Do  you  not  expect  to  be  there?" 

"Ought  I  to  be?" 

"I  really  can't  answer  you,  but  it  seems  to  me  rather 
important  that  the  owner  of  a  collection  should  be  pres 
ent  when  the  appraiser  begins  work." 

"The  fact  is,"  he  said,  "I'm  booked  for  a  silly  shoot 
ing  trip.  I'm  supposed  to  start  to-morrow." 

"Then  perhaps  you  had  better  write  the  letter.  My 
full  name  is  Jacqueline  Nevers — if  you  require  it.  You 
may  use  my  desk." 

She  rose ;  he  thanked  her,  seated  himself,  and  began  a 
letter  to  Mrs.  Quant,  charging  her  to  admit,  entertain, 
and  otherwise  particularly  cherish  one  Miss  Jacqueline 
Nevers,  and  give  her  the  keys  to  the  armoury. 

While  he  was  busy,  Jacqueline  Nevers  paced  the 
room  backward  and  forward,  her  pretty  head  thought- 

27 


THE   BUSINESS    OF    LIFE 

fully  bent,  hands  clasped  behind  her,  moving  leisurely, 
absorbed  in  her  cogitations. 

Desboro  ended  his  letter  and  sat  for  a  moment  watch 
ing  her  until,  happening  to  glance  at  him,  she  discov 
ered  his  idleness. 

"Have  you  finished?"  she  asked. 

A  trifle  out  of  countenance  he  rose  and  explained  that 
he  had,  and  laid  the  letter  on  her  blotter.  Realising 
that  she  was  expecting  him  to  take  his  leave,  he  also 
realised  that  he  didn't  want  to.  And  he  began  to  spar 
with  Destiny  for  time. 

"I  suppose  this  matter  will  require  several  visits  from 
you,"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,  several." 

"It  takes  some  time  to  catalogue  and  appraise  such  a 
collection,  doesn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

She  answered  him  very  sweetly  but  impersonally,  and 
there  seemed  to  be  in  her  brief  replies  no  encourage 
ment  for  him  to  linger.  So  he  started  to  pick  up  his 
hat,  thinking  as  fast  as  he  could  all  the  while ;  and  his 
facile  wits  saved  him  at  the  last  moment. 

"Well,  upon  my  word !"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  you 
know  that  you  and  I  have  not  yet  discussed  terms?" 

"We  make  our  usual  charges,"  she  said. 

"And  what  are  those?" 

She  explained  briefly. 

"That  is  for  cataloguing  and  appraising  only?" 

"Yes." 

"And  if  you  sell  the  collection?" 

"We  take  our  usual  commission." 

"And  you  think  you  can  sell  it  for  me?" 

"I'll  have  to— won't  I?" 

28 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

He  laughed.     "But  can  you?" 

"Yes." 

As  the  curt  affirmative  fell  from  her  lips,  suddenly, 
under  all  her  delicate,  youthful  charm,  Desboro  divined 
the  note  of  hidden  strength,  the  self-confidence  of  capa 
bility — oddly  at  variance  with  her  allure  of  lovely  im 
maturity.  Yet  he  might  have  surmised  it,  for  though 
her  figure  was  that  of  a  girl,  her  face,  for  all  its  soft, 
fresh  beauty,  was  a  woman's,  and  already  firmly 
moulded  in  noble  lines  which  even  the  scarlet  fulness 
of  the  lips  could  not  deny.  For  if  she  had  the  mouth  of 
Aphrodite,  she  had  her  brow,  also. 

He  had  not  been  able  to  make  her  smile,  although  the 
upcurled  corners  of  her  mouth  seemed  always  to  prom 
ise  something.  He  wondered  what  her  expression 
might  be  like  when  animated — even  annoyed.  And 
his  idle  curiosity  led  him  on  to  the  edges  of  im 
pertinence. 

"May  I  say  something  that  I  have  in  mind  and  not 
offend  you?"  he  asked. 

"Yes — if  you  wish."     She  lifted  her  eyes. 

"Do  you  think  you  are  old  enough  and  experienced 
enough  to  catalogue  and  appraise  such  an  important 
collection  as  this  one?  I  thought  perhaps  you  might 
prefer  not  to  take  such  a  responsibility  upon  yourself, 
but  would  rather  choose  to  employ  some  veteran  ex 
pert." 

She  was  silent. 

"Have  I  offended  you?" 

She  walked  slowly  to  the  end  of  the  room,  turned, 
and,  passing  him  a  third  time,  looked  up  at  him  and 
laughed — a  most  enchanting  little  laugh — a  revelation 
as  delightful  as  it  was  unexpected. 

29 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"I  believe  you  really  want  to  do  it  yourself!"  he  ex 
claimed. 

"Want  to?  I'm  dying  to!  I  don't  think  there  is 
anything  in  the  world  I  had  rather  try !"  she  said,  with 
a  sudden  flush  and  sparkle  of  recklessness  that  trans 
figured  her.  "Do  you  suppose  anybody  in  my  business 
would  willingly  miss  the  chance  of  personally  handling 
such  a  transaction?  Of  course  I  want  to.  Not  only 
because  it  would  be  a  most  creditable  transaction  for 
this  house — not  only  because  it  would  be  a  profitable 
business  undertaking,  but" — and  the  swift,  engaging 
smile  parted  her  lips  once  more — "in  a  way  I  feel  as 
though  my  own  ability  had  been  questioned " 

"By  me?"  he  protested.  "Did  I  actually  dare  ques 
tion  your  ability?" 

"Something  very  like  it.  So,  naturally,  I  would  seize 
an  opportunity  to  vindicate  myself — if  you  offer 
it " 

"I  do  offer  it,"  he  said. 

"I  accept." 

There  was  a  moment's  indecisive  silence.  He  picked 
up  his  hat  and  stick,  lingering  still ;  then : 

"Good-bye,  Miss  Nevers.  When  are  you  going  up  to 
Silverwood?" 

"To-morrow,  if  it  is  quite  convenient." 

"Entirely.  I  may  be  there.  Perhaps  I  can  fix  it — 
put  off  that  shooting  party  for  a  day  or  two." 

"I  hope  so." 

"I  hope  so,  too." 

He  walked  reluctantly  toward  the  door,  turned  and 
came  all  the  way  back. 

"Perhaps  you  had  rather  I  remained  away  from 
Silverwood." 

30 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Why?" 

"But,  of  course,"  he  said,  "there  is  a  nice  old  house 
keeper  there,  and  a  lot  of  servants 

She  laughed.  "Thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Desboro. 
It  is  very  nice  of  you,  but  I  had  not  considered  that  at 
all.  Business  women  must  disregard  such  conventions, 
if  they're  to  compete  with  men.  I'd  like  you  to  be  there, 
because  I  may  have  questions  to  ask." 

"Certainly — it's  very  good  of  you.  I — I'll  try  to 
be  there " 

"Because  I  might  have  some  very  important  ques 
tions  to  ask  you,"  she  repeated. 

"Of  course.     I've  got  to  be  there.     Haven't  I?" 

"It  might  be  better  for  your  interests." 

"Then  I'll  be  there.     Well,  good-bye,  Miss  -Nevers." 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Desboro." 

"And  thank  you  for  undertaking  it,"  he  said  cor 
dially. 

"Thank  you  for  asking  me." 

"Oh,  I'm — I'm  really  delighted.  It's  most  kind  of 
you.  Good-bye,  Miss  Nevers." 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Desboro." 

He  had  to  go  that  time;  and  he  went  still  retaining 
a  confused  vision  of  blue  eyes  and  vivid  lips,  and  of  a 
single  lock  of  hair  astray  once  more  across  a  smooth, 
white  cheek. 

When  he  had  gone,  Jacqueline  seated  herself  at  her 
desk  and  picked  up  her  pen.  She  remained  so  for  a 
while,  then  emerged  abruptly  from  a  fit  of  abstraction 
and  sorted  some  papers  unnecessarily.  When  she  had 
arranged  them  to  her  fancy,  she  rearranged  them. 
Then  the  little  Louis  XVI  desk  interested  her,  and  she 
examined  the  inset  placques  of  flowered  Sevres  in  detail, 

31 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

as  though  the  little  desk  of  tulip,  satinwood  and  walnut 
had  not  stood  there  since  she  was  a  child. 

Later  she  noticed  his  card  on  her  blotter ;  and,  face 
framed  in  her  hands,  she  studied  it  so  long  that  the 
card  became  a  glimmering  white  patch  and  vanished; 
and  before  her  remote  gaze  his  phantom  grew  out  of 
space,  seated  there  in  the  empty  chair  beside  her — the 
loosened  collar  of  his  raincoat  revealing  to  her  the  most 
attractive  face  of  any  man  she  had  ever  looked  upon  in 
her  twenty-two  years  of  life. 

Toward  evening  the  electric  lamps  were  lighted  in 
the  shop;  rain  fell  more  heavily  outside;  few  people 
entered.  She  was  busy  with  ledgers  and  files  of  old 
catalogues  recording  auction  sales,  the  name  of  the 
purchaser  and  the  prices  pencilled  on  the  margins  in 
her  father's  curious  handwriting.  Also  her  card  index 
aided  her.  Under  the  head  of  "Desboro"  she  was  able 
to  note  what  objects  of  interest  or  of  art  her  father 
had  bought  for  her  recent  visitor's  grandfather,  and 
the  prices  paid — little,  indeed,  in  those  days,  compared 
with  what  the  same  objects  would  now  bring.  And, 
continuing  her  search,  she  finally  came  upon  an  un 
completed  catalogue  of  the  Desboro  collection.  It  was 
in  manuscript — her  father's  peculiar  French  chirog- 
raphy — neat  and  accurate  as  far  as  it  went. 

Everything  bearing  upon  the  Desboro  collection  she 
bundled  together  and  strapped  with  rubber  bands ;  then, 
one  by  one,  the  clerks  and  salesmen  came  to  report  to 
her  before  closing  up.  She  locked  the  safe,  shut  her 
desk,  and  went  out  to  the  shop,  where  she  remained  until 
the  shutters  were  clamped  and  the  last  salesman  had 
bade  her  a  cheery  good  night.  Then,  bolting  the  door 
and  double-locking  it,  she  went  back  along  the  passage 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

and  up  the  stairs,  where  she  had  the  two  upper  floors  to 
herself,  and  a  cook  and  chambermaid  to  keep  house 
for  her. 

In  the  gaslight  of  the  upper  apartment  she  seemed 
even  more  slender  than  by  daylight — her  eyes  bluer, 
her  lips  more  scarlet.  She  glanced  into  the  mirror  of 
her  dresser  as  she  passed,  pausing  to  twist  up  the  un 
ruly  lock  that  had  defied  her  since  childhood. 

Everywhere  in  the  room  Christmas  wras  still  in  evi 
dence — a  tiny  tree,  with  frivolous,  glittering  things 
still  twisted  and  suspended  among  the  branches,  calen 
dars,  sachets,  handkerchiefs  still  gaily  tied  in  ribbons, 
flowering  shrubs  swathed  in  tissue  and  bows  of  tulle — 
these  from  her  salesmen,  and  she  had  carefully  but 
pleasantly  maintained  the  line  of  demarcation  by  pre 
senting  each  with  a  gold  piece. 

But  there  were  other  gifts — gloves  and  stockings, 
and  bon-bons,  and  books,  from  the  friends  who  were 
girls  when  she  too  was  a  child  at  school;  and  a  set  of 
volumes  from  Gary  Clydesdale  whose  collection  of 
jades  she  was  cataloguing.  The  volumes  wrere  very 
beautiful  and  expensive.  The  gift  had  surprised  her. 

Among  her  childhood  friends  was  her  social  niche; 
the  circumference  of  their  circle  the  limits  of  her  social 
environment.  They  came  to  her  and  she  went  to  them; 
their  pastimes  and  pleasures  were  hers ;  and  if  there 
was  not,  perhaps,  among  them  her  intellectual  equal, 
she  had  not  yet  felt  the  need  of  such  companionship, 
but  had  been  satisfied  to  have  them  hold  her  as  a  good 
companion  who  otherwise  possessed  much  strange  and 
perhaps  useless  knowledge  quite  beyond  their  compass. 
And  she  wras  shyly  content  with  her  intellectual  isola 
tion. 

33 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

So,  amid  these  people,  she  had  found  a  place  pre 
pared  for  her  when  she  emerged  from  childhood.  What 
lay  outside  of  this  circle  she  surmised  with  the  inter 
mittent  curiosity  of  ignorance,  or  of  a  bystander  who 
watches  a  pageant  for  a  moment  and  hastens  on,  pre 
occupied  with  matters  more  familiar. 

All  young  girls  think  of  pleasures ;  she  had  thought 
of  them  always  wrhen  the  day's  task  was  ended,  and  she 
had  sought  them  with  all  the  ardour  of  youth,  with  a 
desire  unwearied,  and  a  thirst  unquenched. 

In  her,  mental  and  physical  pleasure  were  whole 
somely  balanced;  the  keen  delight  of  intellectual  ex 
perience,  the  happiness  of  research  and  attainment, 
went  hand  in  hand  with  a  rather  fastidious  appetite  for 
having  the  best  time  that  circumstances  permitted. 

She  danced  when  she  had  a  chance,  went  to  theatres 
and  restaurants  with  her  friends,  bathed  at  Manhattan 
in  summer,  when  gay  parties  were  organised,  and  did 
the  thousand  innocent  things  that  thousands  of  young 
business  girls  do  whose  lines  are  cast  in  the  metropolis. 

Since  her  father's  death  she  had  been  intensely  lonely ; 
only  a  desperate  and  steady  application  to  business  had 
pulled  her  through  the  first  year  without  a  breakdown. 

The  second  year  she  rejoined  her  friends  and  went 
about  again  with  them.  Now,  the  third  year  since  her 
father's  death  was  already  dawning ;  and  her  last  prayer 
as  the  old  year  died  had  been  that  the  new  one  would 
bring  her  friends  and  happiness. 

Seated  before  the  wood  fire  in  her  bedroom,  leisurely 
undressing,  she  thought  of  Desboro  and  the  business 
that  concerned  him.  He  was  so  very  good  looking — 
in  the  out-world  manner — the  manner  of  those  who 
dwelt  outside  her  orbit. 

34- 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

She  had  not  been  very  friendly  with  him  at  first. 
She  had  wanted  to  be;  instinct  counselled  reserve,  and 
she  had  listened — until  the  very  last.  He  had  a  way 
of  laughing  at  her  in  every  word — in'  even  an  ordinary 
business  conversation.  She  had  been  conscious  all  the 
while  of  his  half-listless  interest  in  her,  of  an  idle  curi 
osity,  which,  before  it  had  grown  offensive,  had  become 
friendly  and  at  times  almost  boyish  in  its  naive  self- 
disclosure.  And  it  made  her  smile  to  remember  how 
very  long  it  took  him  to  take  his  leave. 

But — a  man  of  that  kind — a  man  of  the  out-world — 
with  the  something  in  his  face  that  betrays  shadows 
which  she  had  never  seen  cast — and  never  would  see — 
he  was  no  boy.  For  in  his  face  was  the  faint  imprint 
of  that  pallid  wisdom  which  warned.  Women  in  his 
own  world  might  ignore  the  warning;  perhaps  it  did 
not  menace  them.  But  instinct  told  her  that  it  might 
be  different  outside  that  world. 

She  nestled  into  her  fire-warmed  bath-robe  and  sat 
pensively  fitting  and  refitting  her  bare  feet  into  her 
slippers. 

Men  were  odd ;  alike  and  unalike.  Since  her  father's 
death,  she  had  had  to  be  careful.  Wealthy  gentlemen, 
old  and  young,  amateurs  of  armour,  ivories,  porcelains, 
jewels,  all  clients  of  her  father,  had  sometimes  sent  for 
her  too  many  times  on  too  many  pretexts ;  and  some 
times  their  paternal  manner  toward  her  had  made  her 
uncomfortable.  Desboro  was  of  that  same  caste.  Per 
haps  he  was  not  like  them  otherwise. 

When  she  had  bathed  and  dressed,  she  dined  alone, 
not  having  any  invitation  for  the  evening.  After  din 
ner  she  talked  on  the  telephone  to  her  little  friend, 

35 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

Cynthia  Lessler,  whose  late  father's  business  had  been 
to  set  jewels  and  repair  antique  watches  and  clocks.  In 
cidentally,  he  drank  and  chased  his  daughter  about 
with  a  hatchet  until  she  fled  for  good  one  evening,  which 
afforded  him  an  opportunity  to  drink  himself  very  com 
fortably  to  death  in  six  months. 

"Hello,  Cynthia!"  called  Jacqueline,  softly. 

"Hello!     Is  it  you,  Jacqueline,  dear?" 

"Yes.  Don't  you  want  to  come  over  and  eat  choco 
lates  and  gossip?" 

"Can't  do  it.     I'm  just  starting  for  the  hall." 

"I  thought  you'd  finished  rehearsing." 

"I've  got  to  be  on  hand  all  the  same.  How  are  you, 
sweetness,  anyway?" 

"Blooming,  my  dear.  I'm  crazy  to  tell  you  about 
my  good  luck.  I  have  a  splendid  commission  with  which 
to  begin  the  new  year." 

"Good  for  you!     What  is  it?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  yet" — laughingly — "it's  confiden 
tial  business " 

"Oh,  I  know.  Some  old,  fat  man  wants  you  to  cata 
logue  his  collection." 

"No !  He  isn't  fat,  either.  You  are  the  limit,  Cyn 
thia!" 

"All  the  same,  look  out  for  him,"  retorted  Cynthia. 
"7  know  man  and  his  kind.  Office  experience  is  a  lib 
eral  education ;  the  theatre  a  post-graduate  course. 
Are  you  coming  to  the  dance  to-morrow  night?" 

"Yes.     I  suppose  the  usual  people  will  be  there?" 

"Some  new  ones.  There's  an  awfully  good-looking 
newspaper  man  from  Yonkers.  He  has  a  car  in  town, 
too." 

Something — some  new  and  unaccustomed  impatience 

3G 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

— she  did  not  understand  exactly  what — prompted  Jac 
queline  to  say  scornfully: 

"His  name  is  Eddie,  isn't  it?" 

"No.    Why  do  you  ask?" 

A  sudden  vision  of  Desboro,  laughing  at  her  under 
every  word  of  an  unsmiling  and  commonplace  conver 
sation,  annoyed  her. 

"Oh,  Cynthia,  dear,  every  good-looking  man  we  meet 
is  usually  named  Ed  and  comes  from  places  like  Yon- 
kers." 

Cynthia,  slightly  perplexed,  said  slangily  that  she 
didn't  "get"  her ;  and  Jacqueline  admitted  that  she  her 
self  didn't  know  what  she  had  meant. 

They  gossiped  for  a  while,  then  Cynthia  ended : 

"I'll  see  you  to-morrow  night,  won't  I?  And  listen, 
you  little  white  mouse,  I  get  what  you  mean  by  'Ed 
die'." 

"Do  you?" 

"Yes.     Shall  I  see  you  at  the  dance?" 

"Yes,  and  'Eddie,'  too.     Good-bye." 

Jacqueline  laughed  again,  then  shivered  slightly  and 
hung  up  the  receiver. 

Back  before  her  bedroom  fire  once  more,  Grenville's 
volume  on  ancient  armour  across  her  knees,  she  turned 
the  illuminated  pages  absently,  and  gazed  into  the 
flames.  What  she  saw  among  them  apparently  did  not 
amuse  her,  for  after  a  while  she  frowned,  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  and  resumed  her  reading. 

But  the  XV  century  knights,  in  their  gilded  or  sil 
vered  harness,  had  Desboro's  lithe  figure,  and  the  lifted 
vizors  of  their  helmets  always  disclosed  his  face.  Shields 
emblazoned  with  quarterings,  plumed  armets,  the  golden 
morions,  banner,  pennon,  embroidered  surtout,  and  the 

37 


THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

brilliant  trappings  of  battle  horse  and  palfry,  became 
only  a  confused  blur  of  colour  under  her  eyes,  framing 
a  face  that  looked  back  at  her  out  of  youthful  eyes, 
marred  by  the  shadow  of  a  wisdom  she  knew  about — 
alas — but  did  not  know. 

The  man  of  whom  she  was  thinking  had  walked  back 
to  the  club  through  a  driving  rain,  still  under  the  fas 
cination  of  the  interview,  still  excited  by  its  novelty  and 
by  her  unusual  beauty.  He  could  not  quite  account  for 
his  exhilaration  either,  because,  in  New  York,  beauty 
is  anything  but  unusual  among  the  hundreds  of  thou 
sands  of  young  women  who  work  for  a  living — for  that 
is  one  of  the  seven  wonders  of  the  city — and  it  is  the 
rule  rather  than  the  exception  that,  in  this  new  race 
which  is  evolving  itself  out  of  an  unknown  amalgam, 
there  is  scarcely  a  young  face  in  which  some  trace  of  it 
is  not  apparent  at  a  glance. 

Which  is  why,  perhaps,  he  regarded  his  present  ex 
hilaration  humorously,  or  meant  to ;  perhaps  why  he 
chose  to  think  of  her  as  "Stray  Lock,"  instead  of  Miss 
Nevers,  and  why  he  repeated  confidently  to  himself: 
"She's  thin  as  a  Virgin  by  the  'Master  of  the  Death  of 
Mary'."  And  yet  that  haunting  expression  of  her  face 
— the  sweetness  of  the  lips  upcurled  at  the  corners — the 
surprising  and  lovely  revelation  of  her  laughter — these 
impressions  persisted  as  he  swung  on  through  the  rain, 
through  the  hurrying  throngs  just  released  from  shops 
and  great  department  stores,  and  onward  up  the  wet 
and  glimmering  avenue  to  his  destination,  which  was 
the  Olympian  Club. 

In  the  cloak  room  there  were  men  he  knew,  being  di 
vested  of  wet  hats  and  coats ;  in  reading  room,  card 

38 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

room,  lounge,  billiard  hall,  squash  court,  and  gym 
nasium,  men  greeted  him  with  that  friendly  punctilious 
ness  which  indicates  popularity;  from  the  splashed 
edge  of  the  great,  swimming  pool  men  hailed  him; 
clerks  and  club  servants  saluted  him  smilingly  as 
he  sauntered  about  through  the  place,  still  driven 
into  motion  by  an  inexplicable  and  unaccustomed 
restlessness.  Cairns  discovered  him  coming  out  of  the 
billiard  room: 

"Have  a  snifter?"  he  suggested  affably.  "I'll  find 
Ledyard  and  play  you  'nigger'  or  'rabbit'  afterward, 
if  you  like." 

Desboro  laid  a  hand  on  his  "friend's  shoulder: 

"Jack,  I've  a  business  engagement  at  Silverwood  to 
morrow,  and  I  believe  I'd  better  go  home  to-night." 

"Heavens  !  You've  just  been  there  !  And  what  about 
the  shooting  trip?" 

"I  can  join  you  day  after  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  come,  Jim,  are  you  going  to  spoil  our  card 
quartette  on  the  train?  Reggie  Ledyard  will  kill  you." 

"He  might,  at  that,"  said  Desboro  pleasantly.  "But 
I've  got  to  be  at  Silverwood  to-morrow.  It's  a  matter 
of  business,  Jack." 

"You  and  business!  Lord!  The  amazing  alliance! 
What  are  you  going  to  do — sell  a  few  superannuated 
Westchester  hens  at  auction?  By  heck!  You're  a 
fake  farmer  and  a  pitiable  piker,  that's  what  you  are. 
And  Stuyve  Van  Alstyne  had  a  wire  to-night  that  the 
ducks  and  geese  are  coming  in  to  the  guns  by  mil 
lions " 

"Go  ahead  and  shoot  'em,  then!  I'll  probably  be 
along  in  time  to  pick  up  the  game  for  you." 

"You  won't  go  with  us?" 

39 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Not  to-morrow.  A  man  can't  neglect  his  own  busi 
ness  every  day  in  the  year." 

"Then  you  won't  be  in  Baltimore  for  the  Assembly, 
and  you  won't  go  to  Georgia,  and  you  won't  do  a  thing 
that  you  expected  to.  Oh,  you're  the  gay,  quick-change 
artist!  And  don't  tell  me  it's  business,  either,"  he 
added  suspiciously. 

"I  do  tell  you  exactly  that." 

"You  mean  to  say  that  nothing  except  sheer,  dry 
business  keeps  you  here?" 

The  colour  slowly  settled  under  Desboro's  cheek  bones  : 

"It's  a  matter  with  enough  serious  business  in  it  to 
keep  me  busy  to-morrow 

"Selecting  pearls?  In  which  show  and  which  row 
does  she  cavort,  dear  friend — speaking  in  an  exquisitely 
colloquial  metaphor !" 

Desboro  shrugged:  "I'll  play  you  a  dozen  games  of 
rabbit  before  we  dress  for  dinner.  Come  on,  you  sus 
picious  sport!" 

"Which  show?"  repeated  Cairns  obstinately.  He  did 
not  mean  it  literally,  footlight  affairs  being  unfash 
ionable.  But  Desboro's  easy  popularity  with  women 
originated  continual  gossip,  friendly  and  otherwise; 
and  his  name  was  often  connected  harmlessly  with  that 
of  some  attractive  woman  in  his  own  class — like  Mrs. 
Clydesdale,  for  instance — and  sometimes  with  some 
pretty  unknown  in  some  class  not  specified.  But  the 
surmise  was  idle,  and  the  gossip  vague,  and  neither  the 
one  nor  the  other  disturbed  Desboro,  who  continued  to 
saunter  through  life  keeping  his  personal  affairs  pleas 
antly  to  himself. 

He  linked  his  arm  in  Cairns's  and  guided  him  toward 
the  billiard  room.  But  there  were  no  tables  vacant  for 

40 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

rabbit,  which  absurd  game,  being  hard  on  the  cloth,  was 
limited  to  two  decrepit  pool  tables. 

So  Cairns  again  suggested  his  celebrated  "snifter," 
and  then  the  young  men  separated,  Desboro  to  go 
across  the  street  to  his  elaborate  rooms -and  dress,  al 
ready  a  little  less  interested  in  his  business  trip  to 
Silverwood,  already  regretting  the  gay  party  bound 
South  for  two  weeks  of  pleasure. 

And  when  he  had  emerged  from  a  cold  shower  which, 
with  the  exception  of  sleep,  is  the  wisest  counsellor  in 
the  world,  now  that  he  stood  in  fresh  linen  and  evening 
dress  on  the  threshold  of  another  night,  he  began  to 
wonder  at  his  late  exhilaration. 

To  him  the  approach  of  every  night  was  always 
fraught  with  mysterious  possibilities,  and  with  a  be 
lief  in  Chance  forever  new.  Adventure  dawned  with 
the  electric  lights ;  opportunity  awoke  with  the  evening 
whistles  warning  all  labourers  to  rest.  Opportunity  for 
what  ?  He  did  not  know ;  he  had  not  even  surmised ; 
but  perhaps  it  was  that  something,  that  subtle,  evanes 
cent,  volatile  something  for  which  the  world  itself  waits 
instinctively,  and  has  been  waiting  since  the  first  day 
dawned.  Maybe  it  is  happiness  for  which  the  world 
has  waited  with  patient  instinct  uneradicated ;  maybe 
it  is  death ;  and  after  all,  the  two  may  be  inseparable. 

Desboro,  looking  into  the  coals  of  a  dying  fire,  heard 
the  clock  striking  the  hour.  The  night  was  before  him 
— those  strange  hours  in  which  anything  could  happen 
before  another  sun  gilded  the  sky  pinnacles  of  the 
earth. 

Another  hour  sounded  and  found  him  listless,  absent- 
eyed,  still  gazing  into  a  dying  fire. 

41 


CHAPTER  III 

AT  eleven  o'clock  the  next  morning  Miss  Nevers 
had  not  arrived  at  Silverwood. 
It  was    still   raining  hard,   the  brown  West- 
chester  fields,   the  leafless   trees,  hedges,   paths,   roads, 
were  soaked ;  pools  stood  in  hollows  with  the  dead  grass 
awash;    ditches   brimmed,   river   and  brook   ran   amber 
riot,  and  alder  swamps  widened  into  lakes. 

The  chances  were  now  that  she  would  not  come  at 
all.  Desboro  had  met  both  morning  trains,  but  she 
was  not  visible,  and  all  the  passengers  had  departed 
leaving  him  wandering  alone  along  the  dripping  plat 
form. 

For  a  while  he  stood  moodily  on  the  village  bridge 
beyond,  listening  to  the  noisy  racket  of  the  swollen 
brook ;  and  after  a  little  it  occurred  to  him  that  there 
was  laughter  in  the  noises  of  the  water,  like  the  mirth 
of  the  gods  mocking  him. 

"Laugh  on,  high  ones  1"  he  said.  "I  begin  to  believe 
myself  the  ass  that  I  appear  to  you." 

Presently  he  wandered  back  to  the  station  platform, 
where  he  idled  about,  playing  with  a  stray  and  nonde 
script  dog  or  two,  and  caressing  the  station-master's 
cat;  then,  when  he  had  about  decided  to  get  into  his 
car  and  go  home,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he 
might  telephone  to  New  York  for  information.  And 
he  did  so,  and  learned  that  Miss  Nevers  had  departed 

42 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

that  morning  on  business,  for  a  destination  unknown, 
and  would  not  return  before  evening. 

Also,  the  station-master  informed  him  that  the  morn 
ing  express  now  deposited  passengers  at  Silverwood 
Station,  on  request — an  innovation  of  which  he  had  not 
before  heard ;  and  this  put  him  into  excellent  spirits. 

"Aha  !"  he  said  to  himself,  considerably  elated.  "Per 
haps  I'm  not  such  an  ass  as  I  appear.  Let  the  high 
gods  laugh!" 

So  he  lighted  a  cigarette,  played  with  the  wastrel 
dogs  some  more,  flattered  the  cat  till  she  nearly  rubbed 
her  head  off  against  his  legs,  took  a  small  and  solemn 
child  onto  his  knee  and  presented  it  with  a  silver  dollar, 
while  its  overburdened  German  mother  publicly  nour 
ished  another. 

"You  are  really  a  remarkable  child,"  he  gravely  as 
sured  the  infant  on  his  knee.  "You  possess  a  most  ex 
traordinary  mind!" — the  child  not  having  uttered  a 
word  or  betrayed  a  vestige  of  human  expression  upon 
its  slightly  soiled  features. 

Presently  the  near  whistle  of  the  Connecticut  Express 
brought  him  to  his  feet.  He  lifted  the  astonishingly 
gifted  infant  and  walked  out;  and  when  the  express 
rolled  past  and  stopped,  he  set  it  on  the  day-coach 
platform  beside  its  stolid  parent,  and  waved  to  it  an 
impressive  adieu. 

At  the  same  moment,  descending  from  the  train,  a 
tall  young  girl,  in  waterproofs,  witnessed  the  proceed 
ings,  recognised  Desboro,  and  smiled  at  the  little  cere 
mony  taking  place. 

"Yours?"  she  inquired,  as,  hat  off,  hand  extended, 
he  came  forward  to  welcome  her — and  the  next  moment 
blushed  at  her  impulsive  informality. 

43 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Oh,  all  kids  seem  to  be  mine,  somehow  or  other,"  he 
said.  "I'm  awfully  glad  you  came.  I  was  afraid  you 
wouldn't." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  didn't  believe  you  really  existed,  for  one 
thing.  And  then  the  weather — 

"Do  you  suppose  mere  weather  could  keep  me  from 
the  Desboro  collection?  You  have  much  to  learn  about 
me." 

"I'll  begin  lessons  at  once,"  he  said  gaily,  "if  you 
don't  mind  giving  them.  Do  you?" 

She  smiled  non-committally,  and  looked  around  her 
at  the  departing  vehicles. 

"We  have  a  limousine  waiting  for  us  behind  the  sta 
tion,"  he  said.  "It's  five  muddy  miles." 

"I  had  been  wondering  all  the  way  up  in  the  train 
just  how  I  wras  to  get  to  Silverwood — 

"You  didn't  suppose  I'd  leave  you  to  find  your  way, 
did  you?" 

"Business  people  don't  expect  limousines,"  she  said, 
with  an  unmistakable  accent  that  sounded  priggish  even 
to  herself — so  prim,  indeed,  that  he  laughed  outright ; 
and  she  finally  laughed,  too. 

"This  is  very  jolly,  isn't  it?"  he  remarked,  as  they 
sped  away  through  the  rain. 

She  conceded  that  it  was. 

"It's  going  to  be  a  most  delightful  day,"  he  pre 
dicted. 

She  thought  it  was  likely  to  be  a  busy  day. 

"And  delightful,  too,"  he  insisted  politely. 

"Why  particularly  delightful,  Mr.  Desboro?" 

"I  thought  you  were  looking  forward  with  keen 
pleasure  to  your  work  in  the  Desboro  collection !" 

44 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

She  caught  a  latent  glimmer  of  mischief  in  his  eye, 
and  remained  silent,  not  yet  quite  certain  that  she  liked 
this  constant  running  fire  of  words  that  always  seemed 
to  conceal  a  hint  of  laughter  at  her  expense. 

Had  they  been  longer  acquainted,  and  on  a  different 
footing,  she  knew  that  whatever  he  said  would  have 
provoked  a  response  in  kind  from  her.  But  friendship 
is  not  usually  born  from  a  single  business  interview ; 
nor  is  it  born  perfect,  like  a  fairy  ring,  over  night.  And 
it  was  only  last  night,  she  made  herself  remember,  that 
she  first  laid  eyes  on  Desboro.  Yet  it  seemed  curious 
that  whatever  he  said  seemed  to  awaken  in  her  its 
echo;  and,  though  she  knew  it  was  an  absurd  idea,  the 
idea  persisted  that  she  already  began  to  understand 
this  37oung  man  better  than  she  had  ever  understood 
any  other  of  his  sex. 

He  was  talking  now  at  random,  idly  but  agreeably, 
about  nothing  in  particular.  She,  muffled  in  the  fur 
robe,  looked  out  through  the  limousine  windows  into 
the  rain,  and  saw  brown  fields  set  with  pools  in  every 
furrow,  and  squares  of  winter  wheat,  intensely  green. 

And  now  the  silver  birch  woods,  which  had  given  the 
house  its  name,  began  to  appear  as  outlying  clumps 
across  the  hills;  and  in  a  few  moments  the  car  swung 
into  a  gateway  under  groves  of  solemnly-dripping 
Norway  spruces,  then  up  a  wide  avenue,  lined  with 
ranks  of  leafless,  hardwood  trees  and  thickets  of  laurel 
and  rhododendron,  and  finally  stopped  before  a  house 
made  of  grayish-brown  stone,  in  the  rather  inoffensive 
architecture  of  early  eighteen  hundred. 

Mrs.  Quant,  in  best  bib  and  tucker,  received  them  in 
the  hallway,  having  been  instructed  by  Desboro  con 
cerning  her  attitude  toward  the  expected  guest.  But 

45 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

when  she  became  aware  of  the  slender  youth  of  the  girl, 
she  forgot  her  sniffs  and  misgivings,  and  she  waddled, 
and  bobbed,  and  curtsied,  overflowing  with  a  desire  to 
fondle,  and  cherish,  and  instruct,  which  only  fear  of 
Desboro  choked  off. 

But  as  soon  as  Jacqueline  had  followed  her  to  the 
room  assigned,  and  had  been  divested  of  wet  outer- 
clothing,  and  served  with  hot  tea,  Mrs.  Quant  became 
loquacious  and  confidential  concerning  her  own  per 
sonal  ailments  and  sorrows,  and  the  history  and  mis 
fortunes  of  the  Desboro  family. 

Jacqueline  wished  to  decline  the  cup  of  tea,  but  Mrs. 
Quant  insisted;  and  the  girl  yielded. 

"Air  you  sure  you  feel  well,  Miss  Nevers?"  she  asked 
anxiously. 

"Why,   of   course." 

"Don't  be  too  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Quant  ominously. 
"Sometimes  them  that  feels  bestest  is  sickest.  I've  seen 
a  sight  of  sickness  in  my  day,  dearie — typod,  mostly. 
You  ain't  never  had  typod,  now,  hev  you?" 

"Typhoid?" 

"Yes'm,  typod!" 

"No,  I  never  did." 

"Then  you  take  an  old  woman's  advice,  Miss  Nevers, 
and  don't  you  go  and  git  it!" 

Jacqueline  promised  gravely ;  but  Mrs.  Quant  was 
now  fairly  launched  on  her  favourite  topic. 

"I've  ben  forty-two  years  in  this  place — and  Quant 
— my  man — he  was  head  farmer  here  when  he  was  took. 
Typod,  it  was,  dearie — and  you  won't  never  git  it  if 
you'll  listen  to  me — and  Quant,  a  man  that  never  quar 
reled  with  his  vittles,  but  he  was  for  going  off  without 
'em  that  morning.  Sez  he,  'Cassie,  I  don't  feel  good 

4G 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

this  mornin' !' — and  a  piece  of  pie  and  a  pork  chop 
layin'  there  onto  his  plate.  'My  vittles  don't  set  right,' 
sez  he ;  'I  ain't  a  mite  peckish.'  Sez  I,  'Quant,  you  lay 
right  down,  and  don't  you  stir  a  inch!  You've  gone 
and  got  a  mild  form  of  typod,'  sez  I,  knowing  about 
sickness  as  I  allus  had  a  gift,  my  father  bein'  a  natural 
bone-setter.  And  those  was  my  very  words,  dearie, 
'a  mild  form  of  typod.'  And  I  was  right  and 
he  was  took.  And  when  folks  ain't  well,  it's 
mostly  that  they've  got  a  mild  form  of  typod  which 
some  call  malairy " 

There  was  no  stopping  her;  Jacqueline  tasted  her 
hot  tea  and  listened  sympathetically  to  that  woman  of 
many  sorrows.  And,  sipping  her  tea,  she  was  obliged  to 
assist  at  the  obsequies  of  Quant,  the  nativity  of  young 
Desboro,  the  dissolution  of  his  grandparents  and  par 
ents,  and  many,  many  minor  details,  such  as  the  freez 
ing  of  water-pipes  in  1907,  the  menace  of  the  chestnut 
blight,  mysterious  maladies  which  had  affected  cattle 
and  chickens  on  the  farm — every  variety  of  death,  de 
struction,  dissolution,  and  despondency  that  had  been 
Mrs.  Quant's  portion  to  witness. 

And  how  she  gloried  in  detailing  her  dismal  career; 
and  presently  pessimistic  prophecies  for  the  future 
became  plainer  as  her  undammed  eloquence  flowed  on: 

"And  Mr.  James,  he  ain't  well,  neither,"  she  said 
in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "He  don't  know  it,  and  he  won't 
listen  to  me,  dearie,  but  I  know  he's  got  a  mild  form 
of  typod — he's  that  unwell  the  mornings  when  he's  been 
out  late  in  the  city.  Say  what  you're  a  mind  to,  typod 
is  typod!  And  if  you  h'ain't  got  it  you're  likely  to 
git  it  most  any  minute;  but  he  won't  swaller  the  teas 
and  broths  and  suffusions  I  bring  him,  and  he'll  be  took 

47 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

like  everybody  else  one  of  these  days,  dearie — which  he 
wouldn't  if  he'd  listen  to  me " 

"Mrs.  Quant"  came  Desboro's  voice  from  the  land 
ing. 

"Y — yes,  sir,"  stammered  that  guilty  and  agitated 
Cassandra. 

Jacqueline  set  aside  her  teacup  and  came  to  the 
stairs ;  their  glances  met  in  the  suppressed  amusement 
of  mutual  comprehension,  and  he  conducted  her  to 
the  hallway  below,  where  a  big  log  fire  was  blazing. 

"What  was  it — death,  destruction,  and  general  woe, 
as  usual?"  he  asked. 

"And  typod,"  she  whispered.  "It  appears  that  you 
have  it !" 

"Poor  old  soul!  She  means  all  right;  but  imagine 
me  here  with  her  all  day,  dodging  infusions  and  broths 
and  red  flannel!  Warm  your  hands  at  the  blaze,  Miss 
Nevers,  and  I'll  find  the  armoury  keys.  It  will  be  a 
little  colder  in  there." 

She  spread  her  hands  to  the  flames,  conscious  of  his 
subtle  change  of  manner  toward  her,  now  that  she  was 
actually  under  his  roof — and  liked  him  for  it — not  in 
the  least  surprised  that  she  was  comprehending  still 
another  phase  of  this  young  man's  most  interesting 
personality. 

For,  without  reasoning,  her  slight  misgivings  con 
cerning  him  were  vanishing ;  instinct  told  her  she  might 
even  permit  herself  a  friendlier  manner,  and  she  looked 
up  smilingly  when  he  came  back  swinging  a  bunch  of 
keys. 

"These  belong  to  the  Quant,"  he  explained.  " — hon 
est  old  soul!  Every  gem  and  ivory  and  lump  of  jade 
in  the  collection  is  at  her  mercy,  for  here  are  the  keys 

48 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

to  every  case.  Now,  Miss  Nevers,  what  do  you  re 
quire?  Pencil  and  pad?" 

"I  have  my  note-book,  thanks — a  new  one  in  your 
honour." 

He  said  he  was  flattered  and  led  the  way  through  a 
wide  corridor  to  the  eastern  wing;  unlocked  a  pair  of 
massive  doors,  and  swung  them  wide.  And,  beside  him, 
she  walked  into  the  armoury  of  the  famous  Desboro 
collection. 

Straight  ahead  of  her,  paved  with  black  marble,  lay 
a  lane  through  a  double  rank  of  armed  and  mounted 
men  in  complete  armour ;  and  she  could  scarcely  sup 
press  a  little  cry  of  surprise  and  admiration. 

"This  is  magnificent !"  she  exclaimed ;  and  he  saw  her 
cheeks  brighten,  and  her  breath  coming  faster. 

"It  is  fine,"  he  said  soberly. 

"It  is,  indeed,  Mr.  Desboro!  That  is  a  noble  array 
of  armour.  I  feel  like  some  legendary  princess  of  long 
ago,  passing  her  chivalry  in  review  as  I  move  between 
these  double  ranks.  What  a  wonderful  collection!  All 
Spanish  and  Milanese  mail,  isn't  it?  Your  grandfather 
specialised?" 

"I  believe  he  did.  I  don't  know  very  much  about 
the  collection,  technically." 

"Don't  you  care  for  it?" 

"Why,  yes — more,  perhaps,  than  I  realised — now 
that  you  are  actually  here  to  take  it  away." 

"But  I'm  not  going  to  put  it  into  a  magic  pocket 
and  flee  to  New  York  with  it !" 

She  spoke  gaily,  and  his  face,  which  had  become  a 
little  grave,  relaxed  into  its  habitual  expression  of 
careless  good  humour. 

They  had  slowly  traversed  the  long  lane,  and  now, 

49 


THE  BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

turning,  came  back  through  groups  of  men-at-arms, 
pikemen,  billmen,  arquebussiers,  crossbowmen,  archers, 
halbardiers,  slingers — all  the  multitudinous  arms  of  a 
polyglot  service,  each  apparently  equipped  with  his 
proper  weapon  and  properly  accoutred  for  trouble. 

Once  or  twice  she  glanced  at  the  trophies  aloft  on 
the  walls,  every  group  bunched  behind  its  shield  and 
radiating  from  it  under  the  drooping  remnants  of  ban 
ners  emblazoned  with  arms,  crests,  insignia,  devices, 
and  quarterings  long  since  forgotten,  except  by  such 
people  as  herself. 

She  moved  gracefully,  leisurely,  pausing  now  and 
then  before  some  panoplied  manikin,  Desboro  saunter 
ing  beside  her.  Now  and  then  she  stopped  to  inspect 
an  ancient  piece  of  ordnance,  wonderfully  wrought 
and  chased,  now  and  then  halted  on  tip-toe  to  lift 
some  slitted  visor  and  peer  into  the  dusky  cavern  of 
the  helmet,  where  a  painted  face  stared  back  at  her 
out  of  painted  eyes. 

"Who  scours   all  this  mail?"  she  asked. 

"Our  old  armourer.  My  grandfather  trained  him. 
But  he's  very  old  and  rheumatic  now,  and  I  don't  let 
him  exert  himself.  I  think  he  sleeps  all  winter,  like  a 
woodchuck,  and  fishes  all  summer." 

"You  ought  to  have  another  armourer." 

"I  can't  turn  Michael  out  to  starve,  can  I?" 

She  swung  around  swiftly:  "I  didn't  mean  that!" 
and  saw  he  was  laughing  at  her. 

"I  know  you  didn't,"  he  said.  "But  I  can't  afford 
two  armourers.  That's  the  reason  I'm  disposing  of 
these  tin-clothed  tenants  of  mine — to  economise  and 
cut  expenses." 

She  moved  on,  evidently  desiring  to  obtain  a  general 

50 


'Now  and  then  she     ...     halted  on  tip-toe  to  lift 
some  slitted  visor" 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

impression  of  the  task  before  her,  now  and  then  ex 
amining  the  glass-encased  labels  at  the  feet  of  the  fig 
ures,  and  occasionally  shaking  her  head.  Already  the 
errant  lock  curled  across  her  cheek. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  he  inquired.  "Aren't  these 
gentlemen  correctly  ticketed?" 

"Some  are  not.  That  suit  of  gilded  mail  is  not 
Spanish;  it's  German.  It  is  not  very  difficult  to  make 
such  a  mistake  sometimes." 

Steam  heat  had  been  put  in,  but  the  vast  hall  was 
chilly  except  close  to  the  long  ranks  of  oxidised  pipes 
lining  the  walls.  They  stood  a  moment,  leaning  against 
them  and  looking  out  across  the  place,  all  glittering 
with  the  mail-clad  figures. 

"I've  easily  three  weeks'  work  before  me  among  these 
mounted  figures  alone,  to  say  nothing  of  the  men  on 
foot  and  the  trophies  and  artillery,"  she  said.  "Do 
you  know  it  is  going  to  be  rather  expensive  for  you, 
Mr.  Desboro?" 

This  did  not  appear  to  disturb  him. 

"Because,"  she  went  on,  "a  great  many  mistakes 
have  been  made  in  labelling,  and  some  mistakes  in  as 
sembling  the  complete  suits  of  mail  and  in  assigning 
weapons.  For  example,  that  mounted  man  in  front 
of  you  is  wearing  tilting  armour  and  a  helmet  that 
doesn't  belong  to  it.  That's  a  childish  mistake." 

"We'll  put  the  proper  lid  on  him,"  said  Desboro. 
"Show  it  to  me  and  I'll  put  it  all  over  him  now." 

"It's  up  there  aloft  with  the  trophies,  I  think — the 
fifth  group." 

"There's  a  ladder  on  wheels  for  a  closer  view  of  the 
weapons.  Shall  I  trundle  it  in?" 

He  went  out  into  the  hallway  and  presently  came 

53 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

back  pushing  a  clanking  extension  ladder  with  a  railed 
top  to  it.  Then  he  affixed  the  crank  and  began  to 
grind  until  it  rose  to  the  desired  height. 

"All  I  ask  of  you  is  not  to  tumble  off  it,"  he  said. 
"Do  you  promise?" 

She  promised  with  mock  seriousness:  "Because  I 
need  all  my  brains,  you  see." 

"You've  a  lot  of  'em,  haven't  you,  Miss  Nevers?" 

"No,  not  many." 

He  shrugged:  "I  wronder,  then,  what  a  quantitative 
analysis  of  mine  might  produce." 

She  said :  "You  are  as  clever  as  you  take  the  trouble 
to  be — "  and  stopped  herself  short,  unwilling  to  drift 
into  personalities. 

"It's  the  interest  that  is  lacking  in  me,"  he  said, 
" — or  perhaps  the  incentive." 

She  made  no  comment. 

"Don't  you  think  so?" 

"I  don't  know." 

" — And  don't  care,"-  he  added. 

She  flushed,  half  turned  in  protest,  but  remained 
silent. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "I  didn't  mean  to 
force  your  interest  in  myself.  Tell  me,  is  there  any 
thing  I  can  do  for  your  comfort  before  I  go?  And 
shall  I  go  and  leave  you  to  abstruse  and  intellectual 
meditation,  or  do  I  disturb  you  by  tagging  about  at 
your  heels?" 

His  easy,  light  tone  relieved  her.  She  looked  around 
her  at  the  armed  figures: 

"You  don't  disturb  me.  I  was  trying  to  think  where 
to  begin.  To-morrow  I'll  bring  up  some  reference 

books " 

54 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Perhaps  you  can  find  what  you  want  in  my  grand 
father's  library.  I'll  show  you  where  it  is  when  you 
are  ready." 

"I  wonder  if  he  has  Grenville's  monograph  on  Span 
ish  and  Milanese  mail?" 

"I'll  see." 

He  went  away  and  remained  for  ten  minutes.  She 
was  minutely  examining  the  sword  belonging  to  a 
rather  battered  suit  of  armour  when  he  returned  with 
the  book. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "you  are  useful.  I  did  well  to 
suggest  that  you  remain  here.  Now,  look,  Mr.  Des- 
boro.  This  is  German  armour,  and  here  is  a  Spanish 
sword  of  a  different  century  along  with  it !  That's 
all  wrong,  you  know.  Antonius  was  the  sword-maker ; 
here  is  his  name  on  the  hexagonal,  gilded  iron  hilt — 
* Antonius  Me  Fecit'." 

"You'll  put  that  all  right,"  he  said  confidently. 
"Won't  you?" 

"That's  why  you  asked  me  here,  isn't  it?" 

He  may  have  been  on  the  point  of  an  indiscreet  re 
joinder,  for  he  closed  his  lips  suddenly  and  began  to 
examine  another  sword.  It  belonged  to  the  only  female 
equestrian  figure  in  the  collection — a  beautifully  shaped 
suit  of  woman's  armour,  astride  a  painted  war-horse, 
the  cuirass  of  Milan  plates. 

"The  Countess  of  Oroposa,"  he  said.  "It  was  her 
peculiar  privilege,  after  the  Count's  death,  to  ride  in 
full  armour  and  carry  a  naked  sword  across  her  knees 
when  the  Spanish  Court  made  a  solemn  entry  into  cit 
ies.  Which  will  be  about  all  from  me,"  he  added  with 
a  laugh.  "Are  you  ready  for  luncheon?" 

"Quite,  thank  you.  But  you  said  that  you  didn't 

55 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

know  much  about  this  collection.  Let  me  see  that  sword, 
please." 

He  drew  it  from  its  scabbard  and  presented  the  hilt. 
She  took  it,  studied  it,  then  read  aloud  the  device  in 
verse : 

"  'Paz  Comigo  Nunca  Veo  Y  Siempre  Guera  Dese.'  " 
("There  is  never  peace  with  me;  my  desire  is  always 
war!") 

Her  clear  young  voice  repeating  the  old  sword's 
motto  seemed  to  ring  a  little  through  the  silence — as 
though  it  were  the  clean-cut  voice  of  the  blade  itself. 

"What  a  fine  motto,"  he  said  guilelessly.  "And  you 
interpret  it  as  though  it  were  your  own." 

"I  like  the  sound  of  it.  There  is  no  compromise 
in  it." 

"Why  not  assume  it  for  your  own?  'There  is  never 
peace  with  me;  my  desire  is  always  war!'  Why  not 
adopt  it?" 

"Do  you  mean  that  such  a  militant  motto  suits  me?" 
she  asked,  amused,  and  caught  the  half-laughing,  half 
malicious  glimmer  in  his  eyes,  and  knew  in  an  instant 
he  had  divined  her  attitude  toward  himself,  and  to 
ward  to  her  own  self,  too — war  on  them  both,  lest  they 
succumb  to  the  friendship  that  threatened.  Silent,  pre 
occupied,  she  went  back  with  him  through  the  armoury, 
through  the  hallway,  into  a  rather  commonplace  din 
ing-room,  where  a  table  had  already  been  laid  for  two. 

Desboro  jingled  a  small  silver  bell,  and  presently 
luncheon  was  announced.  She  ate  with  the  healthy 
appetite  of  the  young,  and  he  pretended  to.  Several 
cats  and  dogs  of  unaristocratic  degree  came  purring 
and  wagging  about  the  table,  and  he  indulged  them 
with  an  impartiality  that  interested  her,  playing  no 

56 


"She  took  it     ...     then  read  aloud  the  device  in  verse' 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

favourites,  but  allotting  to  each  its  portion,  and  se 
renely  chastising  the  greedy. 

"What  wonderful  impartiality!"  she  ventured.  "I 
couldn't  do  it;  I'd  be  sure  to  prefer  one  of  them." 

"Why  entertain  preference  for  anything  or  any 
body?" 

"That's  nonsense." 

"No;  it's  sense.  Because,  if  anything  happens  to 
,one,  there  are  the  others  to  console  you.  It's  pleas- 
anter  to  like  impartially." 

She  was  occupied  with  her  fruit  cup;  presently  she 
glanced  up  at  him: 

"Is  that  your  policy?" 

"Isn't  it  a  safe  one?" 

"Yes.     Is  it  yours?" 

"Wisdom  suggests  it  to  me — has  always  urged  it. 
I'm  not  sure  that  it  always  works.  For  example,  I 
prefer  champagne  to  milk,  but  I  try  not  to." 

"You  always  contrive  to  twist  sense  into  nonsense." 

"You  don't  mind,  do  you?" 

"No;  but  don't  you  ever  take  anything  seriously?" 

"Myself." 

"I'm  afraid  you  don't." 

"Indeed,  I  do !  See  how  my  financial  mishaps  sent 
me  flying  to  you  for  help !  " 

She  said :  "You  don't  even  take  seriously  what  you 
call  your  financial  mishaps." 

"But  I  take  the  remedy  for  them  most  reverently  and 
most  thankfully." 

"The  remedy?" 

"You." 

A  slight  colour  stained  her  cheeks ;  for  she  did  not  see 
just  how  to  avoid  the  footing  they  had  almost  reached 

59 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

— the  understanding  which,  somehow,  had  been  im 
pending  from  the  moment  they  met.  Intuition  had 
warned  her  against  it.  And  now  here  it  was. 

How  could  she  have  avoided  it,  when  it  was  per 
fectly  evident  from  the  first  that  he  found  her  interest 
ing — that  his  voice  and  intonation  and  bearing  were 
always  subtly  offering  friendship,  no  matter  what  he 
said  to  her,  whether  in  jest  or  earnest,  in  light-hearted 
idleness  or  in  all  the  decorum  of  the  perfunctory  and 
commonplace. 

To  have  made  more  out  of  it  than  was  in  it  would 
have  been  no  sillier  than  to  priggishly  discountenance 
his  harmless  good  humour.  To  be  prim  would  have 
been  ridiculous.  Besides,  everything  innocent  in  her 
found  an  instinctive  pleasure,  even  in  her  own  misgiv 
ings  concerning  this  man  and  the  unsettled  problem  of 
her  personal  relations  with  him — unsolved  with  her,  at 
least;  but  he  appeared  to  have  settled  it  for  himself. 

As  they  walked  back  to  the  armoury  together,  she 
was  trying  to  think  it  out;  and  she  concluded  that  she 
might  dare  be  toward  him  as  unconcernedly  friendly 
as  he  would  ever  think  of  being  toward  her.  And  it 
gave  her  a  little  thrill  of  pride  to  feel  that  she  was 
equipped  to  carry  through  her  part  in  a  light,  gay, 
ephemeral  friendship  with  one  belonging  to  a  world 
about  which  she  knew  nothing  at  all. 

That  ought  to  be  her  attitude — friendly,  spirited, 
pretending  to  a  savolr  faire  only  surmised  by  her  own 
good  taste — lest  he  find  her  stupid  and  narrow,  igno 
rant  and  dull.  And  it  occurred  to  her  very  forcibly 
that  she  would  not  like  that. 

So — let  him  admire  her. 

His  motives,  perhaps,  were  as  innocent  as  hers.  Let 

GO 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

him  say  the  unexpected  and  disconcerting  things  it 
amused  him  to  say.  She  knew  well  enough  how  to 
parry  them,  once  her  mind  was  made  up  not  to  entirely 
ignore  them ;  and  that  would  be  much  better.  That, 
no  doubt,  was  the  manner  in  which  women  of  his  own 
world  met  the  easy  badinage  of  men ;  and  she  determined 
to  let  him  discover  that  she  was  interesting  if  she  chose 
to  be. 

She  had  produced  her  note-book  and  pencil  when 
they  entered  the  armoury.  He  carried  Grenville's  cele 
brated  monograph,  and  she  consulted  it  from  time  to 
time,  bending  her  dainty  head  beside  his  shoulder,  and 
turning  the  pages  of  the  volume  with  a  smooth  and 
narrow  hand  that  fascinated  him. 

From  time  to  time,  too,  she  made  entries  in  her  note 
book,  such  as  :  "Armet,  Spanish,  late  XV  century.  Tilt 
ing  harness  probably  made  by  Helmschmid;  espaliers, 
manteau  d'armes,  coude,  left  cuisse  and  colleret  missing. 
War  armour,  Milanese,  XIV  century;  probably  made 
by  the  Negrolis ;  rere-brace,  gorget,  rondel  missing; 
sword  made  probably  by  Martinez,  Toledo.  Armour 
made  in  Germany,  middle  of  XVI  century,  probably 
designed  by  Diego  de  Arroyo ;  cuisses  laminated." 

They  stopped  before  a  horseman,  clad  from  head 
to  spurs  in  superb  mail.  On  a  ground  of  blackened 
steel  the  pieces  were  embossed  with  gold  grotesqueries ; 
the  cuirass  was  formed  by  overlapping  horizontal 
plates,  the  three  upper  ones  composing  a  gorget  of 
solid  gold.  Nymphs,  satyrs,  gods,  goddesses  and  cu- 
pids  in  exquisite  design  and  composition  framed  the 
"lorica" ;  cuisses  and  tassettes  carried  out  the  lorica 
pattern ;  coudes,  arm-guards,  and  genouilleres  were 
dolphin  masks,  gilded. 

61 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Parade  armour,"  she  said  under  her  breath,  "not 
war  armour,  as  it  has  been  labelled.  It  is  armour  de 
luxe,  and  probably  royal,  too.  Do  you  see  the  collar 
of  the  Golden  Fleece  on  the  gorget?  And  there  hangs 
the  fleece  itself,  borne  by  two  cupids  as  a  canopy  for 
Venus  rising  from  the  sea.  That  is  probably  Sigman's 
XVI  century  work.  Is  it  not  royally  magnificent !" 

"Lord !  What  a  lot  of  lore  you  seem  to  have  ac 
quired!"  he  said. 

"But  I  was  trained  to  this  profession  by  the  ablest 
teacher  in  America — "  her  voice  fell  charmingly,  " — by 
my  father.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  know  a  little  about 
it?" 

They  moved  on  in  silence  to  where  a  man-at-arms 
stood  leaning  both  clasped  hands  over  the  gilded  pom 
mel  of  a  sword. 

She  said  quickly:  "That  sword  belongs  to  parade 
armour !  How  stupid  to  give  it  to  this  pikeman  !  Don't 
you  see?  The  blade  is  diamond  sectioned;  Horn  of 
Solingen's  mark  is  on  the  ricasse.  And,  oh,  what  a 
wonderful  hilt!  It  is  a  miracle!" 

The  hilt  was  really  a  miracle ;  carved  in  gold  relief, 
Italian  renaissance  style,  the  guard  centre  was  deco 
rated  with  black  arabesques  on  a  gold  ground;  quillons 
curved  down,  ending  in  cupid's  heads  of  exquisite 
beauty. 

The  guard  was  engraved  with  a  cartouche  enclosing 
the  Three  Graces ;  and  from  it  sprang  a  beautiful 
counter-guard  formed  out  of  two  lovely  Caryatids 
united.  The  grip  was  made  of  heliotrope  amethyst 
inset  with  gold ;  the  pommel  constructed  by  two  volutes 
which  encompassed  a  tiny  naked  nymph  with  emeralds 
for  her  eyes. 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"What  a  masterpiece!"  she  breathed.  "It  can  be 
matched  only  in  the  Royal  Armoury  of  Madrid." 

"Have  you  been  abroad,  Miss  Nevers?" 

"Yes,  several  times  with  my  father.  It  was  part  of 
my  education  in  business." 

He  said:     "Yours  is  a  French  name?" 

"Father  was  French." 

"He  must  have  been  a  very  cultivated  man." 

"Self-cultivated." 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  "there  once  was  a  de  written 
before  'Nevers.' ' 

She  laughed:  "No.  Father's  family  were  always 
bourgeois  shopkeepers — as  I  am." 

He  looked  at  the  dainty  girl  beside  him,  with  her 
features  and  slender  limbs  and  bearing  of  an  aristo 
crat. 

"Too  bad,"  he  said,  pretending  disillusion.  "I  ex 
pected  you'd  tell  me  how  your  ancestors  died  on  the 
scaffold,  remarking  in  laudable  chorus,  'Vive  le  Roi!'  ' 

She  laughed  and  sparkled  deliciously:  "Alas,  no, 
monsieur.  But,  ma  foil  Some  among  them  may  have 
worked  the  guillotine  for  Sanson  or  drummed  for  San- 
terre. 

"You  seem  to  me  to  symbolise  all  the  grace  and 
charm  that  perished  on  the  Place  de  Greve." 

She  laughed :  "Look  again,  and  see  if  it  is  not  their 
Nemesis  I  more  closely  resemble." 

And  as  she  said  it  so  gaily,  an  odd  idea  struck  him 
that  she  did  embody  something  less  obvious,  something 
more  vital,  than  the  symbol  of  an  aristocratic  regime 
perishing  en  masse  against  the  blood-red  sky  of 
Paris. 

He  did  not  know  what  it  was  about  her  that  seemed 

63 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

to  symbolise  all  that  is  forever  young  and  fresh  and 
imperishable.  Perhaps  it  was  only  the  evolution  of 
the  real  world  he  saw  in  her  opening  into  blossom  and 
disclosing  such  as  she  to  justify  the  darkness  and  woe 
of  the  long  travail. 

She  had  left  him  standing  alone  with  Grenville's  book 
open  in  his  hands,  and  was  now  examining  a  figure  wear 
ing  a  coat  of  fine  steel  mail,  with  a  black  corselet  pro 
tecting  back  and  breast  decorated  with  horizontal 
bands. 

"Do  you  notice  the  difference?"  she  asked.  "In  Ger 
man  armour  the  bands  are  vertical.  This  is  Milanese, 
and  I  think  the  Negrolis  made  it.  See  how  exquisitely 
the  morion  is  decorated  with  these  lions'  heads  in  gold 
for  cheek  pieces,  and  these  bands  of  gold  damascene 
over  the  skull-piece,  that  meet  to  form  Minerva's  face 
above  the  brow !  I'm  sure  it's  the  Negrolis  work. 
Wait !  Ah,  here  is  the  inscription  !  'P.  lacobi  et  Fratr 
Negroli  Faciebant  MDXXXIX.'  Bring  me  Grenville's 
book,  please." 

She  took  it,  ran  over  the  pages  rapidly,  found  what 
she  wanted,  and  then  stepped  forward  and  laid  her 
white  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  another  grim,  mailed 
figure. 

"This  is  foot-armour,"  she  said,  "and  does  not  be 
long  with  that  morion.  It's  neither  Milanese  nor  yet 
of  Augsburg  make;  it's  Italian,  but  who  made  it  I 
don't  know.  You  see  it's  a  superb  combination  of 
parade  armour  and  war  mail,  with  all  the  gorgeous  de 
sign  of  the  former  and  the  smoothness  and  toughness 
of  the  latter.  Really,  Mr.  Desboro,  this  investigation 
is  becoming  exciting.  I  never  before  saw  such  a  suit 
of  foot-armour." 

64 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Perhaps  it  belonged  to  the  catcher  of  some  ancient 
baseball  club,"  he  suggested. 

She  turned,  laughing,  but  exasperated:  "I'm  not 
going  to  let  you  remain  near  me,"  she  said.  "You  anni 
hilate  every  atom  of  romance ;  you  are  an  anachronism 
here,  anyway." 

"I  know  it ;  but  you  fit  in  delightfully  with  tourna 
ments  and  pageants  and  things " 

"Go  up  on  that  ladder  and  sit !"  resolutely  pointing. 

He  went.  Perched  aloft,  he  lighted  a  cigarette  and 
surveyed  the  prospect. 

"Mark  Twain  killed  all  this  sort  of  thing  for  me," 
he  observed. 

She  said  indignantly :  "It's  the  only  thing  I  never 
have  forgiven  him." 

"He  told  the  truth." 

"I  know  it — I  know  it.  But,  oh,  how  could  he  write 
what  he  did  about  King  Arthur's  Court !  And  what 
is  the  use  of  truth,  anyway,  unless  it  leaves  us  en 
nobling  illusions?" 

Ennobling  illusions !  She  did  not  know  it ;  but  ex 
cept  for  them  she  never  would  have  existed,  nor  others 
like  her  that  are  yet  to  come  in  myriads. 

Desboro  waved  his  cigarette  gracefully  and  de 
claimed  : 

"The  knights  are  dust, 
Their  good  swords  bust; 
Their  souls  are  up  the  spout  we  trust — " 

"Mr.  Desboro!" 
"Mademoiselle?" 
"That  silly  parody  on  a  noble  verse  is  not  humor- 


65 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Truth  seldom  is.  The  men  who  wore  those  suits 
of  mail  were  everything  that  nobody  now  admires — 
brutal,  selfish,  ruthless " 

"Mr.  Desboro!" 

"Mademoiselle?" 

"Are  there  not  a  number  of  such  gentlemen  still 
existing  on  earth?" 

"New  York's  full  of  them,"  he  admitted  cheerfully, 
"but  they  conceal  what  they  really  are  on  account  of 
the  police." 

"Is  that  all  that  five  hundred  years  has  taught  men 
— concealment  ?" 

"Yes,  and  five  thousand,"  he  muttered;  but  said 
aloud:  "It  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  admiring  the 
iron  hats  and  clothes  they  wore.  If  you'll  let  me  come 
down  I'll  admire  'em " 

"No." 

"I  want  to  carry  your  book  for  you." 

"No." 

" — And  listen  to  everything  you  say  about  the  verti 
cal  stripes  on  their  Dutch  trousers " 

"Very  well,"  she  consented,  laughing;  "you  may 
descend  and  examine  these  gold  inlaid  and  checkered 
trousers.  They  were  probably  made  for  a  fashionable 
dandy  by  Alonso  Garcia,  five  hundred  years  ago ;  and 
you  will  observe  that  they  are  still  beautifully  creased." 

So  they  passed  on,  side  by  side,  while  she  sketched 
out  her  preliminary  work.  And  sometimes  he  was  idly 
flippant  and  irresponsible,  and  sometimes  she  thrilled 
unexpectedly  at  his  quick,  warm  response  to  some  im 
pulsive  appeal  that  he  share  her  admiration. 

Under  the  careless  surface,  she  divined  a  sort  of 
perverse  intelligence ;  she  was  certain  that  what  ap- 

66 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

pealed  to  her  he,  also,  understood  when  he  chose  to ; 
because  he  understood  so  much — much  that  she  had  not 
even  imagined — much  of  life,  and  of  the  world,  and  of 
the  men  and  women  in  it.  But,  having  lived  a  life  so 
full,  so  different  from  her  own,  perhaps  his  interest 
was  less  easily  aroused ;  perhaps  it  might  be  even  a 
little  fatigued  by  the  endless  pageant  moving  with  him 
amid  scenes  of  brightness  and  happiness  which  seemed 
to  her  as  far  away  from  herself  and  as  unreal  as  scenes 
in  the  painted  arras  hanging  on  the  walls. 

They  had  been  speaking  of  operas  in  which  armour, 
incorrectly  designed  and  worn,  was  tolerated  by  public 
ignorance;  and,  thinking  of  the  "horseshoe,"  where 
all  that  is  wealthy,  and  intelligent,  and  wonderful,  and 
aristocratic  in  New  York  is  supposed  to  congregate,  she 
had  mentally  placed  him  there  among  those  elegant 
and  distant  young  men  who  are  to  be  seen  sauntering 
from  one  gilded  box  to  another,  or,  gracefully  posed, 
decorating  and  further  embellishing  boxes  already  re 
plete  with  jeweled  and  feminine  beauty;  or  in  the  cur 
tained  depths,  mysterious  silhouettes  motionless  against 
the  dull  red  glow. 

And,  if  those  gold-encrusted  boxes  had  been  celestial 
balconies,  full  of  blessed  damosels  leaning  over 
heaven's  edge,  they  would  have  seemed  no  farther  away, 
no  more  accessible  to  her,  than  they  seemed  from  where 
she  sometimes  sat  or  stood,  all  alone,  to  listen  to  Farrar 
and  Caruso. 

The  light  in  the  armoury  was  growing  a  little  dim. 
She  bent  more  closely  over  her  note-book,  the  printed 
pages  of  Mr.  Grenville,  and  the  shimmering,  inlaid,  and 
embossed  armour. 

67 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Shall  we  have  tea?"  he  suggested. 

"Tea?  Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Desboro ;  but  when  the 
light  fails,  I'll  have  to  go." 

It  was  failing  fast.  She  used  the  delicate  tips  of 
her  fingers  more  often  in  examining  engraved,  inlaid, 
and  embossed  surfaces. 

"I  never  had  electricity  put  into  the  armoury,"  he 
said.  "I'm  sorry  now — for  your  sake." 

"I'm  sorry,  too.     I  could  have  worked  until  six." 

"There !"  he  said,  laughing.  "You  have  admitted  it ! 
What  are  you  going  to  do  for  nearly  two  hours  if  you 
don't  take  tea?  Your  train  doesn't  leave  until  six. 
Did  you  propose  to  go  to  the  station  and  sit  there?" 

Her  confused  laughter  was  very  sweet,  and  she  ad 
mitted  that  she  had  nothing  to  do  after  the  light  failed 
except  to  fold  her  hands  and  wait  for  the  train. 

"Then  won't  you  have  tea?" 

"I'd— rather   not!" 

He  said:  "You  could  take  it  alone  in  your  room  if 
you  liked — and  rest  a  little.  Mrs.  Quant  will  call 
you." 

She  looked  up  at  him  after  a  moment,  and  her  cheeks 
were  very  pink  and  her  eyes  brilliant : 

"I'd  rather  take  it  with  you,  Mr.  Desboro.  Why 
shouldn't  I  say  so?" 

No  words  came  to  him,  and  not  much  breath,  so 
totally  unexpected  was  her  reply. 

Still  looking  at  him,  the  faint  smile  fading  into  seri 
ousness,  she  repeated: 

"Why  shouldn't  I.  say  so?  Is  there  any  reason?  You 
know  better  than  I  what  a  girl  alone  may  do.  And  I 
really  would  like  to  have  some  tea — and  have  it  with 
you." 

68 


THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

He  didn't  smile ;  he  was  too  clever — perhaps  too  de 
cent. 

"It's  quite  all  right,"  he  said.  "We'll  have  it  served 
in  the  library  where  there's  a  fine  fire." 

So  they  slowly  crossed  the  armoury  and  traversed  the 
hallway,  where  she  left  him  for  a  moment  and  ran  up 
stairs  to  her  room.  When  she  rejoined  him  in  the 
library,  he  noticed  that  the  insurgent  lock  of  hair  had 
been  deftly  tucked  in  among  its  lustrous  comrades ; 
but  the  first  shake  of  her  head  dislodged  it  again,  and 
there  it  was,  threatening  him,  as  usual,  from  its  soft, 
warm  ambush  against  her  cheek. 

"Can't  you  do  anything  with  it?"  he  asked,  sympa 
thetically,  as  she  seated  herself  and  poured  the  tea. 

"Do  anything  with  what?" 

"That  lock  of  hair.  It's  loose  again,  and  it  will  do 
murder  some  day." 

She  laughed  with  scarcely  a  trace  of  confusion,  and 
handed  him  his  cup. 

"That's  the  first  thing  I  noticed  about  you,"  he 
added. 

"That  lock  of  hair?  I  can't  do  anything  with  it. 
Isn't  it  horribly  messy?" 

"It's  dangerous." 

"How  absurd!" 

"Are  you  ever  known  as  'Stray  Lock'  among  your 
intimates  ?" 

"I  should  think  not,"  she  said  scornfully.  "It 
sounds  like  a  children's  picture-book  story." 

"But  you  look  like  one." 

"Mr.  Desboro!"  she  protested.  "Haven't  you  any 
common  sense?" 

"You    look,"   he    said   reflectively,    "as    though   you 

69 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

came  from  the  same  bookshelf  as  'Gold  Locks,'  'The 
Robber  Kitten,'  and  'A  Princess  Far  Away,'  and  all 
those  immortal  volumes  of  the  'days  that  are  no  more.' 
Would  you  mind  if  I  label  you  'Stray  Lock,'  and  put 
you  on  the  shelf  among  the  other  immortals?" 

Her  frank  laughter  rang  out  sweetly: 

"I  very  much  object  to  being  labeled  and  shelved — 
particularly  shelved." 

"I'll  promise  to  read  you  every  day " 

"No,  thank  you !" 

"I'll  promise  to  take  you  everywhere  with  me " 

"In  your  pocket?  No,  thank  you.  I  object  to  being 
either  shelved  or  pocketed — to  be  consulted  at  pleasure 
— or  when  you're  bored." 

They  both  had  been  laughing  a  good  deal,  and  were 
slightly  excited  by  their  game  of  harmless  double  en 
tendre.  But  now,  perhaps  it  was  becoming  a  trifle  too 
obvious,  and  Jacqueline  checked  herself  to  glance  back 
mentally  and  see  how  far  she  had  gone  along  the  path 
of  friendship. 

She  could  not  determine ;  for  the  path  has  many 
twists  and  turnings,  and  she  had  sped  forward  lightly 
and  swiftly,  and  was  still  conscious  of  the  ex 
hilaration  of  the  pace  in  his  gay  and  irresponsible 
company. 

Her  smile  changed  and  died  out;  she  leaned  back  in 
her  leather  chair,  gazing  absently  at  the  fiery  reflections 
crimsoning  the  andirons  on  the  hearth,  and  hearing 
afar,  on  some  distant  roof,  the  steady  downpour  of 
the  winter  rain. 

Subtly  the  quiet  and  warmth  of  the  room  invaded 
her  with  a  sense  of  content,  not  due,  perhaps,  to  them 
alone.  And  dreamily  conscious  that  this  might  be  so, 

70 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

she  lifted  her  eyes  and  looked  across  the  table  at  him. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said,  "if  this  is  all  right?" 

"What?" 

"Our — situation — here." 

"Situations  are  what  we  make  them." 

"But,"   she  asked  candidly,   "could  you  call  this  a 
business  situation?" 


. 


"'Are  business   and   friendship   incompatible?'" 

He  laughed  unrestrainedly,  and  finally  she  ventured 
to  smile,  secretly  reassured. 

"Are  business  and  friendship  incompatible?"  he  in 
quired. 

"I  don't  know.  Are  they?  I  have  to  be  careful  in 
the  shop,  with  younger  customers  and  clerks.  To  treat 
them  with  more  than  pleasant  civility  would  spoil  them 

71 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

for  business.  My  father  taught  me  that.  He  served 
in  the  French  Army." 

"Do  you  think,"  he  said  gravely,  "that  you  are 
spoiling  me  for  business  purposes?" 

She  smiled:  "I  was  thinking — wondering  whether 
you  did  not  more  accurately  represent  the  corps  of 
officers  and  I  the  line.  I  am  only  a  temporary  em 
ployee  of  yours,  Mr.  Desboro,  and  some  day  you  may 
be  angry  at  what  I  do  and  you  may  say,  'Tonnerre  de 
Dieu !'  to  me — which  I  wouldn't  like  if  we  were  friends, 
but  which  I'd  otherwise  endure." 

"We're  friends  already ;  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?" 

She  knew  it  was  so  now,  for  better  or  worse,  and  she 
looked  at  him  shyly,  a  little  troubled  by  what  the  end 
of  this  day  had  brought  her. 

Silent,  absent-eyed,  she  began  to  wonder  what  such 
men  as  he  really  thought  of  a  girl  of  her  sort.  It 
could  happen  that  his  attitude  toward  her  might  be 
come  like  that  of  the  only  men  of  his  kind  she  had 
ever  encountered — wealthy  clients  of  her  father,  young 
and  old,  and  all  of  them  inclined  to  offer  her  atten 
tions  which  instinct  warned  her  to  ignore. 

As  for  Desboro,  even  from  the  beginning  she  felt  that 
his  attitude  toward  her  depended  upon  herself;  and, 
warranted  or  not,  this  sense  of  security  with  him  now 
left  her  leisure  to  study  him.  And  she  concluded  that 
probably  he  was  like  the  other  men  of  his  class  whom 
she  had  known — a  receptive  opportunist,  inevitably  her 
antagonist  at  heart,  but  not  to  be  feared  except  under 
deliberate  provocation  from  her.  And  that  excuse  he 
would  never  have. 

Aware  of  his  admiration  almost  from  the  very  first, 

72 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

perplexed,  curious,  uncertain,  and  disturbed  by  turns, 
she  was  finally  convinced  that  the  matter  lay  entirely 
with  her ;  that  she  might  accept  a  little,  venture  a  little  in 
safety;  and,  perfectly  certain  of  herself,  enjoy  as  much 
of  what  his  friendship  offered  as  her  own  clear  wits 
and  common  sense  permitted.  For  she  had  found,  so 
far,  no  metal  in  any  man  unalloyed.  Two  years'  expe 
rience  alone  with  men  had  educated  her;  and  whatever 
the  alloy  in  Desboro  might  be  that  lowered  his  value, 
she  thought  it  less  objectionable  than  the  similar  amal 
gam  out  of  which  were  fashioned  the  harmless  youths 
in  whose  noisy  company  she  danced,  and  dined,  and 
bathed,  and  witnessed  Broadway  "shows" ;  the  Eddies 
and  Joes  of  the  metropolis,  replicas  in  mind  and  body 
of  clothing  advertisements  in  street  cars. 

Her  blue  eyes,  wandering  from  the  ruddy  andirons, 
were  arrested  by  the  clock.  What  had  happened?  Was 
the  clock  still  going?  She  listened,  and  heard  it  tick 
ing. 

"Is  that  the  right  time?"  she  demanded  incredulously „ 

He  said,  so  low  she  could  scarcely  hear  him: 
"Yes,  Stray  Lock.  Must  I  close  the  story  book  and 
lay  it  away  until  another  day?" 

She  rose,  brushing  the  bright  strand  from  her  cheek ; 
he  stood  up,  pulled  the  tassel  of  an  old-time  bell  rope, 
and,  when  the  butler  came,  ordered  the  car. 

She  went  away  to  her  room,  where  Mrs.  Quant 
swathed  her  in  rain  garments  and  veils,  and  secretly 
pressed  into  her  hand  a  bottle  containing  "a  suffusion" 
warranted  to  discourage  any  insidious  advances  of  ty- 
pod. 

"A  spoonful  before  meals,  dearie,"  she  whispered 
hoarsely ;  "and  don't  tell  Mr.  James — he'd  be  that  dis- 

73 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

gusted  with  me  for  doin'  of  a  Christian  duty.  I'll  have 
some  of  my  magic  drops  ready  when  you  come  to-mor 
row,  and  you  can  just  lock  the  door  and  set  and  rock 
and  enj'y  them  onto  a  lump  of  sugar." 

A  little  dismayed,  but  contriving  to  look  serious, 
Jacqueline  thanked  her  and  fled.  Desboro  put  her  into 
the  car  and  climbed  in  beside  her. 

"You  needn't,  you  know,"  she  protested.  "There  are 
no  highwaymen,  are  there?" 

"None  more  to  be  dreaded  than  myself." 

"Then  why  do  you  go  to  the  station  with  me?" 

He  did  not  answer.  She  presently  settled  into  her 
corner,  and  he  wrapped  her  in  the  fur  robe.  Neither 
spoke;  the  lamplight  flashed  ahead  through  the  falling 
rain;  all  else  was  darkness — the  widest  world  of  dark 
ness,  it  seemed  to  her  fancy,  that  she  ever  looked  out 
upon,  for  it  seemed  to  leave  this  man  and  herself  alone 
in  the  centre  of  things. 

Conscious  of  him  beside  her,  she  was  curiously  con 
tent  not  to  look  at  him  or  to  disturb  the  silence  encom 
passing  them.  The  sense  of  speed,  the  rush  through 
obscurity,  seemed  part  of  it — part  of  a  confused  and 
pleasurable  irresponsibility. 

Later,  standing  under  the  dripping  eaves  of  the  sta 
tion  platform  with  him,  watching  the  approaching 
headlight  of  the  distant  locomotive,  she  said: 

"You  have  made  it  a  very  delightful  day  for  me.  I 
wanted  to  thank  you." 

He  was  silent;  the  distant  locomotive  whistled,  and 
the  vista  of  wet  rails  began  to  glisten  red  in  the  swift 
approach. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  go  to  town  alone  on  that  train." 
he  said  abruptly. 

74 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"What?"  in  utter  surprise. 

"Will  you  let  me  go  with  you,  Miss  Nevers?" 

"Nonsense!  I  wander  about  everywhere  alone. 
Please  don't  spoil  it  all.  Don't  even  go  aboard  to  find 
a  seat  for  me." 

The  long  train  thundered  by,  brakes  gripping, 
slowed,  stopped.  She  sprang  aboard,  turned  on  the 
steps  and  offered  her  hand: 

"Good-bye,  Mr.  Desboro." 

"To-morrow?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

They  exchanged  no  further  words;  she  stood  a  mo 
ment  on  the  platform,  as  the  cars  glided  slowly  past 
him  and  on  into  the  rainy  night.  All  the  way  to  New 
York  she  remained  motionless  in  the  corner  of  the  seat, 
her  cheek  resting  against  her  gloved  palm,  thinking 
of  what  had  happened — closing  her  blue  eyes,  some 
times,  to  bring  it  nearer  and  make  more  real  a  day  of 
life  already  ended. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHEN    the   doorbell  rang  the  maid  of  all  work 
pushed  the  button  and  stood  waiting  at  the 
top   of  the  stairs.      There   was   a   pause,   a 
moment's     whispering,     then     light     footsteps     flying 
through  the  corridor,  and : 

"Where  on  earth  have  you  been  for  a  week?"  asked 
Cynthia  Lessler,  coming  into  Jacqueline's  little  parlour, 
where  the  latter  sat  knitting  a  white  wool  skating  jacket 
for  herself. 

Jacqueline  laid  aside  the  knitting  and  greeted  her 
visitor  with  a  warm,  quick  embrace. 

"Oh,  I've  been  everywhere,"  she  said.  "Out  in  West- 
chester,  mostly.  To-day  being  Sunday,  I'm  at  home." 

"What  were  you  doing  in  the  country,  sweetness?" 

"Business." 

"What  kind?" 

"Oh,  cataloguing  a  collection.  Take  the  arm-chair 
and  sit  near  the  stove,  dear.  And  here  are  the  choco 
lates.  Put  your  feet  on  the  fender  as  I  do.  It  was 
frightfully  cold  in  Westchester  yesterday — everything 
frozen  solid — and  we — I  skated  all  over  the  flooded 
fields  and  swamps.  It  was  simply  glorious,  Cyn 
thia " 

"I  thought  you  were  out  there  on  business,"  remarked 
Cynthia  dryly. 

"I  was.     I  merely  took  an  hour  at  noon  for  lunch- 


76 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Did  you?" 

"Certainly.  Even  a  bricklayer  has  an  hour  at  noon 
to  himself." 

"Whose  collection  are  you  cataloguing?" 

"It  belongs  to  a  Mr.  Desboro,"  said  Jacqueline  care 
lessly. 

"Where  is  it?" 

"In  his  house — a  big,  old  house  about  five  miles  from 
the  station " 

"How  do  you  get  there?" 

"They  send  a  car  for  me " 

"Who?" 

"They— Mr.  Desboro." 

"They?     Is  he  plural?" 

"Don't  be  foolish,"  said  Jacqueline.  "It  is  his  car 
and  his  collection,  and  I'm  having  a  perfectly  good  time 
with  both." 

"And  with  him,  too?     Yes?" 

"If  you  knew  him  you  wouldn't  talk  that  way." 

"I  know  who  he  is." 

"Do  you?"  said  Jacqueline  calmly. 

"Yes,  I  do.  He's  the  'Jim'  Desboro  whose  name  you 
see  in  the  fashionable  columns.  I  know  something 
about  that  young  man,"  she  added  emphatically. 

Jacqueline  looked  up  at  her  with  dawning  displeas 
ure.  Cynthia,  undisturbed,  bit  into  a  chocolate  and 
waved  one  pretty  hand: 

"Read  the  Tattler,  as  I  do,  and  you'll  see  what  sort 
of  a  man  your  young  man  is." 

"I  don't  care  to   read  such  a " 

"I  do.  It  tells  you  funny  things  about  society. 
Every  week  or  two  there's  something  about  him.  You 
can't  exactly  understand  it — they  put  it  in  a  funny 

77 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

way — but  you  can  guess.  Besides,  he's  always  going 
around  town  with  Reggie  Ledyard,  and  Stuyve  Van 
Alstyne,  and — Jack  Cairns " 

"Don't  speak  that  way — as  though  you  usually 
lunched  with  them.  I  hate  it." 

"How  do  you  know  I  don't  lunch  with  some  of 
them?  Besides  everybody  calls  them  Reggie,  and 
Stuyve,  and  Jack " 

"Everybody  except  their  mothers,  probably.  I  don't 
want  to  hear  about  them,  anyway." 

"Why  not,  darling?" 

"Because  you  and  I  don't  know  them  and  never 
will " 

Cynthia  said  maliciously:  "You  may  meet  them 
through  your  friend,  Jimmy  Desboro — 

"That  is  the  limit!"  exclaimed  Jacqueline,  flushing; 
and  her  pretty  companion  leaned  back  in  her  armchair 
and  laughed  until  Jacqueline's  unwilling  smile  began 
to  glimmer  in  her  wrath-darkened  eyes. 

"Don't  torment  me,  Cynthia,"  she  said.  "You  know 
quite  well  that  it's  a  business  matter  with  me  entirely." 

"Was  it  a  business  matter  with  that  Dawley  man? 
You  had  to  get  me  to  go  with  you  into  that  den  of 
his  whenever  you  went  at  all." 

Jacqueline  shrugged  and  resumed  her  knitting: 
"What  a  horrid  thing  he  was,"  she  murmured. 

Cynthia  assented  philosophically:  "But  most  men 
bother  a  girl  sooner  or  later,"  she  concluded.  "You 
don't  read  about  it  in  novels,  but  it's  true.  Go  down 
town  and  take  dictation  for  a  living.  It's  an  educa 
tion  in  how  to  look  out  for  yourself." 

"It's  a  rotten  state  of  things,"  said  Jacqueline  under 
her  breath. 

78 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Yes.  It's  funny,  too.  So  many  men  are  that  way. 
What  do  they  care?  Do  you  suppose  we'd  be  that  way, 
too,  if  we  were  men?" 

"No.     There  are  nice  men,   too." 

"Yes— dead  ones." 

"Nonsense !" 


"There  are  nice  men,  too"1 

"With  very  few  exceptions,  Jacqueline.  There  are 
horrid,  horrid  ones,  and  nice,  horrid  ones,  and  dead 
ones  and  dead  ones — but  only  a  few  nice,  nice  ones. 
I've  known  some.  You  think  your  Mr.  Desboro  is  one, 
don't  you?" 

"I  haven't  thought  about  him " 

"Honestly,  Jacqueline  ?" 

79 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"I  tell  you  I  haven't !  He's  nice  to  me.  That's  all 
I  know." 

"Is  he  too  nice?" 

"No.  Besides,  he's  under  his  own  roof.  And  it 
depends  on  a  girl,  anyway." 

"Not  always.  If  we  behave  ourselves  we're  dead 
ones ;  if  we  don't  we'd  better  be.  Isn't  it  a  rotten  deal, 
Jacqueline !  Just  one  fresh  man  after  another  dropped 
into  the  discards  because  he  gets  too  gay.  And  being 
employed  by  the  kind  who'd  never  marry  us  spoils  us 
for  the  others.  You  could  marry  one  of  your  clients, 
I  suppose,  but  I  never  could  in  a  million  years." 

"You  and  I  will  never  marry  such  men,"  said  Jacque 
line  coolly.  "Perhaps  we  wouldn't  if  they  asked 
us." 

"You  might.  You're  educated  and  bright,  and — 
you  look  the  part,  with  all  the  things  you  know — and 
your  trips  to  Europe — and  the  kind  of  beauty  yours  is. 
Why  not?  If  I  were  you,"  she  added,  "I'd  kill  a  man 
who  thought  me  good  enough  to  hold  hands  with,  but 
not  good  enough  to  marry." 

"I  don't  hold  hands,"  observed  Jacqueline  scorn- 
fully. 

"I  do.  I've  done  it  when  it  was  all  right;  and  I've 
done  it  when  I  had  no  business  to ;  and  the  chances  are 
I'll  do  it  again  without  getting  hurt.  And  then  I'll 
finally  marry  the  sort  of  man  you  call  Ed,"  she  added 
disgustedly. 

Jacqueline  laughed,  and  looked  intently  at  her: 
"You're  so  pretty,  Cynthia — and  so  silly  sometimes." 

Cynthia  stretched  her  young  figure  full  length  in 
the  chair,  yawning  and  crooking  both  arms  back  under 
her  curly  brown  head.  Her  eyes,  too,  were  brown,  and 

80 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

had  in  them  always  a  half-veiled  languor  that  few  men 
could  encounter  undisturbed. 

"A  week  ago,"  she  said,  "you  told  me  over  the  tele 
phone  that  you  would  be  at  the  dance.  /  never  laid 
eyes  on  you." 

"I  came  home  too  tired.  It  was  my  first  day  at 
Silverwood.  I  overdid  it,  I  suppose." 

"Silverwood?" 

"Where  I  go  to  business  in  Westchester,"  she  ex 
plained  patiently. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Desboro's  place !"  with  laughing  malice. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Desboro's  place." 

The  hint  of  latent  impatience  in  Jacqueline's  voice 
was  not  lost  on  Cynthia ;  and  she  resumed  her  torment 
ing  inquisition: 

"How  long  is  it  going  to  take  you  to  catalogue  Mr. 
Desboro's  collection?" 

"I  have  several  weeks'  work,  I  think — I  don't  know 
exactly." 

"All  winter,  perhaps?" 

"Possibly." 

"Is  he  always  there,  darling?" 

Jacqueline  was  visibly  annoyed:  "He  has  happened 
to  be,  so  far.  I  believe  he  is  going  South  very  soon — 
if  that  interests  you." 

"  'Phone  me  when  he  goes,"  retorted  Cynthia,  unbe 
lievingly. 

"What  makes  you  say  such  things !"  exclaimed 
Jacqueline.  "I  tell  you  he  isn't  that  kind  of  a 
man." 

"Read   the   Tattler,    dearest!" 

"I  won't." 

"Don't  you  ever  read  it?" 

81 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 


"No.     Why  should  I?" 

"Curiosity." 

"I  haven't  any." 

Cynthia  laughed  incredulously: 

"People  who  have  no  curiosity  are  either  idiots  or 
they  have  already  found  out.  Now,  you  are  not  an 
idiot." 

Jacqueline  smiled:  "And  I  haven't  found  out, 
either." 

"Then  you're  just  as  full  of  curiosity  as  the  rest 
of  us." 

"Not  of  unworthy  curiosity " 

"I  never  knew  a  good  person  who  wasn't.  I'm  good, 
am  I  not,  Jacqueline?" 

"Of  course." 

"Well,  then,  I'm  full  of  all  kinds  of  curiosities — 
worthy  and  unworthy.  I  want  to  know  about  every 
thing  !" 

"Everything  good." 

"Good  and  bad.  God  lets  both  exist.  I  want  to 
know  about  them." 

"Why  be  curious  about  what  is  bad?  It  doesn't  con 
cern  us." 

"If  you  know  what  concerns  you  only,  you'll  never 
know  anything.  Now,  when  I  read  a  newspaper  I  read 
about  fashionable  weddings,  millionaires,  shows,  mur 
ders — I  read  everything — not  because  I'm  going  to 
be  fashionably  married,  or  become  a  millionaire  or  a 
murderer,  but  because  all  these  things  exist  and  hap 
pen,  and  I  want  to  know  all  about  them  because  I'm 
not  an  idiot,  and  I  haven't  already  found  out.  And 
so  that's  why  I  buy  the  Tattler  whenever  I  have  five 
cents  to  spend  on  it!" 

82 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

"It's  a  pity  you're  not  more  curious  about  things 
worth  while,"  commented  Jacqueline  serenely. 

Cynthia  reddened:  "Dear,  I  haven't  the  education 
or  brain  to  be  interested  in  the  things  that  occupy 
you." 

"I  didn't  mean  that,"  protested  Jacqueline,  embar 
rassed.  "I  only " 

"I  know,  dear.  You  are  too  sweet  to  say  it ;  but  it's 
true.  The  bunch  you  play  with  knows  it.  We  all 
realise  that  you  are  way  ahead  of  us — that  you're  dif 
ferent " 

"Please  don't  say  that— or  think  it." 

"But  it's  true.  You  really  belong  with  the  others — " 
she  made  a  gay  little  gesture — "over  there  in  the  Fifth 
Avenue  district,  where  art  gets  gay  with  fashion ;  where 
lady  highbrows  wear  tiaras;  where  the  Jims  and  Jacks 
and  Reggies  float  about  and  hand  each  other  new 
ones  between  quarts ;  where  you  belong,  darling — wher 
ever  you  finally  land!" 

Jacqueline  was  laughing:  "But  I  don't  wish  to  land 
there!  I  never  wanted  to.!' 

"All  girls  do!     We  all  dream  about  it!" 

"Here  is  one  girl  who  really  doesn't.  Of  course, 
I'd  like  to  have  a  few  friends  of  that  kind.  I'd  rather 
like  to  visit  houses  where  nobody  has  to  think  of  money, 
and  where  young  people  are  jolly,  and  educated,  and 
dress  well,  and  talk  about  interesting  things " 

"Dear,  we  all  would  like  it.  That's  what  I'm  saying. 
Only  there's  a  chance  for  you  because  you  know  some 
thing — but  none  for  us.  We  understand  that  perfectly 
well — and  we  dream  on  all  the  same.  We'd  miss  a  lot 
if  we  didn't  dream." 

Jacqueline  said  mockingly:  "I'll  invite  you  to  my 

83 


THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

Fifth  Avenue  residence  the  minute  I  marry  what  you 
call  a  Reggie." 

"I'll  come  if  you'll  stand  for  me.  I'm  not  afraid  of 
any  Reggie  in  the  bench  show !" 

They  laughed ;  Cynthia  stretched  out  a  lazy  hand  for 
another  chocolate;  Jacqueline  knitted,  the  smile  still 
hovering  on  her  scarlet  lips. 

Bending  over  her  work,  she  said:  "You  won't  mis 
understand  when  I  tell  you  how  much  I  enjoy  being 
at  Silverwood,  and  how  nice  Mr.  Desboro  has  been." 

"Has  been." 

"Is,  and  surely  will  continue  to  be,"  insisted  Jacque 
line  tranquilly.  "Shall  I  tell  you  about  Silverwood?" 

Cynthia  nodded. 

"Well,  then,  Mr.  Desboro  has  such  a  funny  old 
housekeeper  there,  who  gives  me  'magic  drops'  on 
lumps  of  sugar.  The  drops  are  aromatic  and  harmless, 
so  I  take  them  to  please  her.  And  he  has  an  old,  old 
butler,  who  is  too  feeble  to  be  very  useful ;  and  an  old, 
old  armourer,  who  comes  once  a  week  and  potters  about 
with  a  bit  of  chamois ;  and  a  parlour  maid  who  is  sixty 
and  wears  glasses ;  and  a  laundress  still  older.  And  a 
whole  troop  of  dogs  and  cats  come  to  luncheon  with 
us.  Sometimes  the  butler  goes  to  sleep  in  the  pantry, 
and  Mr.  Desboro  and  I  sit  and  talk.  And  if  he  doesn't 
wake  up,  Mr.  Desboro  hunts  about  for  somebody  to 
wait  on  us.  Of  course  there  are  other  servants  there, 
and  farmers  and  gardeners,  too.  Mr.  Desboro  has  a 
great  deal  of  land.  And  so,"  she  chattered  on  quite 
happily  and  irrelevantly,  "we  go  skating  for  half  an 
hour  after  lunch  before  I  resume  my  cataloguing.  He 
skates  very  well ;  we  are  learning  to  waltz  on 

skates " 

81 


THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Who  does  the  teaching?" 

"He  does.  I  don't  skate  very  well ;  and  unless  it  were 
for  him  I'd  have  such  tumbles !  And  once  we  went 
sleighing — that  is,  he  drove  me  to  the  station — in  rather 
a  roundabout  way.  And  the  country  was  so  beautiful ! 
And  the  stars — oh,  millions  and  millions,  Cynthia !  It 
was  as  cold  as  the  North  Pole,  but  I  loved  it — and  I 
had  on  his  other  fur  coat  and  gloves.  He  is  very  nice 
to  me.  I  wanted  you  to  understand  the  sort  of  man 
he  is." 

"Perhaps  he  is  the  original  hundredth  man,"  re 
marked  Cynthia  skeptically. 

"Most  men  are  hundredth  men  when  the  nine  and 
ninety  girls  behave  themselves.  It's  the  hundredth  girl 
who  makes  the  nine  and  ninety  men  horrid." 

"That's  what  you  believe,  is  it?" 

"I  do." 

"Dream  on,  dear."  She  went  to  a  gla^ss,  pinned  her 
pretty  hat,  slipped  into  the  smart  fur  coat  that  Jacque 
line  held  for  her,  and  began  to  draw  on  her  gloves. 

"Can't  you  stay  to  dinner,"  asked  Jacqueline. 

"Thank  you,  sweetness,  but  I'm  dining  at  the  Beaux 
Arts." 

"With  any  people  I  know?" 

"You  don't  know  that  particular  'people',"  said 
Cynthia,  smiling,  "but  you  know  a  friend  of  his." 

"Who?" 

"Mr.  Desboro." 

"Really!"  she  said,  colouring. 

Cynthia  frowned  at  her:  "Don't  become  sentimental 
over  that  young  man !" 

"No,  of  course  not." 

"Because  I  don't  think  he's  very  much  good." 

85 


THE    BUSINESS    OF    LIFE 

"He  is — but  I  won't,"  explained  Jasqueline  laugh 
ing.  "I  know  quite  well  how  to  take  care  of  myself." 

"Do  you?" 

"Yes;  don't  you?" 

"I— don't— know." 

"Cynthia  !     Of  course  you  know  !" 

"Do  I?  Well,  perhaps  I  do.  Perhaps  all  girls  know 
how  to  take  care  of  themselves.  But  sometimes — espe 
cially  when  their  home  life  is  the  limit "  She  hesi 
tated,  slowly  twisting  a  hairpin  through  the  button 
hole  of  one  glove.  Then  she  buttoned  it  decisively. 
"When  things  got  so  bad  at  home  two  years  ago,  and 
I  went  with  that  show — you  didn't  see  it — you  were 
in  mourning — but  it  ran  on  Broadway  all  winter.  And 
I  met  one  or  two  Reggies  at  suppers,  and  another  man 
— the  same  sort — only  his  name  happened  to  be  Jack — 
and  I  want  to  tell  you  it  was  hard  work  not  to  like 
him." 

Jacqueline  stood,  slim  and  straight,  and  silent,  lis 
tening  unsmilingly. 

Cynthia  went  on  leisurely: 

"He  was  a  friend  of  Mr.  Desboro — the  same  kind 
of  man,  I  suppose.  That's  why  I  read  the  Tattler — 
to  see  what  they  say  about  him." 

"Wh-what  do  they  say?" 

"Oh,  things — funny  sorts  of  things,  about  his  be 
ing  attentive  to  this  girl,  and  being  seen  frequently  with 
that  girl.  I  don't  know  what  they  mean  exactly — they 
always  make  it  sound  queer — as  though  all  the  men 
and  women  in  society  are  fast.  And  this  man,  too — 
perhaps  he  is." 

"But  what  do  you  care,  dear?" 

"Nothing.  It  was  hard  work  not  to  like  him.  You 

8G 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

don't  understand  how  it  was ;  you've  always  lived  at 
home.  But  home  was  hell  for  me;  and  I  was  getting 
fifteen  per;  and  it  grew  horribly  cold  that  winter.  I 
had  no  fire.  Besides — it  was  so  hard  not  to  like  him. 
I  used  to  come  to  see  you.  Do  you  remember  how  I 
used  to  come  here  and  cry?" 

"I — I  thought  it  was  because  you  had  been  so  un 
happy  at  home." 

"Partly.     The  rest  was — the  other  thing." 

"You  did  like  him,  then !" 

"Not-— too  much." 

"I  understand  that.     But  it's  over  now,  isn't  it?" 

Cynthia  stood  idly  turning  her  muff  between  her 
white-gloved  hands. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  after  a  moment,  "it's  over.  But 
I'm  thinking  how  nearly  over  it  was  with  me,  once  or 
twice  that  winter.  I  thought  I  knew  how  to  take  care 
of  myself.  But  a  girl  never  knows,  Jacqueline.  Cold, 
hunger,  debt,  shabby  clothes  are  bad  enough;  loneli 
ness  is  worse.  Yet,  these  are  not  enough,  by  themselves. 
But  if  we  like  a  man,  with  all  that  to  worry  over — 
then  it's  pretty  hard  on  us." 

"How  could  you  care  for  a  bad  man?" 

"Bad?  Did  I  say  he  was?  I  meant  he  was  like  other 
men.  A  girl  becomes  accustomed  to  men." 

"And  likes  them,  notwithstanding?" 

"Some  of  them.  It  depends.  If  you  like  a  man  you 
seem  to  like  him  anyhow.  You  may  get  angry,  too, 
and  still  like  him.  There's  so  much  of  the  child  in 
them.  I've  learned  that.  They're  bad;  but  when  you 
like  one  of  them,  he  seems  to  belong  to  you,  somehow 
— badness  and  all.  I  must  be  going,  dear." 

Still,  neither  moved;  Cynthia  idly  twirled  her  muff; 

87 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Jacqueline,  her  slender  hands  clasped  behind  her,  stood 
gazing  silently  at  the  floor. 

Cynthia  said:  "That's  the  trouble  with  us  all.  I'm 
afraid  you  like  this  man,  Desboro.  I  tell  you  that  he 
isn't  much  good ;  but  if  you  already  like  him,  you'll  go 
on  liking  him,  no  matter  what  I  say  or  what  he  does. 
For  it's  that  way  with  us,  Jacqueline.  And  where  in 
the  world  would  men  find  a  living  soul  to  excuse  them 
if  it  were  not  for  us  ?  That  seems  to  be  about  all  we're 
for — to  forgive  men  what  they  are — and  what  they 
do." 

"/  don't  forgive  them,"  said  Jacqueline  fiercely ; 
" — or  women,  either." 

"Oh,  nobody  forgives  women!  But  you  will  find 
excuses  for  some  man  some  day — if  you  like  him.  I 
guess  even  the  best  of  them  require  it.  But  the  general 
run  of  them  have  got  to  have  excuses  made  for  them, 
or  no  woman  would  stand  for  her  own  honeymoon,  and 
marriages  would  last  about  a  week.  Good-bye,  dear." 

They  kissed. 

At  the  head  of  the  stairs  outside,  Jacqueline  kissed 
her  again. 

"How  is  the  play  going?"  she  inquired. 

"Oh,  it's  going." 

"Is  there  any  chance  for  you  to  get  a  better  part?" 

"No  chance  I  care  to  take.  Max  Schindler  is  like 
all  the  rest  of  them." 

Jacqueline's  features  betrayed  her  wonder  and  dis 
gust,  but  she  said  nothing;  and  presently  Cynthia 
turned  and  started  down  the  stairs. 

"Good-night,  dear,"  she  called  back,  with  a  gay  lit 
tle  flourish  of  her  muff.  "They're  all  alike — only  we 
always  forgive  the  one  we  care  for!" 

88 


CHAPTER  V 

ON  Monday,  Desboro  waited  all  the  morning  for 
her,   meeting   every   train.      At  noon,   she   had 
not   arrived.      Finally,   he  called   up   her  office 
and  was  informed  that  Miss  Nevers  had  been  detained 
in  town  on  business,  and  that  their  Mr.  Kirk  had  tele 
phoned  him  that  morning  to  that  effect. 

He  asked  to  speak  to  Miss  Nevers  personally ;  she 
had  gone  out,  it  appeared,  and  might  not  return  until 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon. 

So  Desboro  went  home  in  his  car  and  summoned  Far- 
ris,  the  aged  butler,  who  was  pottering  about  in  the 
greenhouses,  which  he  much  preferred  to  attending  to 
his  own  business. 

"Did  anybody  telephone  this  morning?"  asked  the 
master. 

Farris  had  forgotten  to  mention  it — was  very  sorry 
— and  stood  like  an  aged  hound,  head  partly  lowered 
and  averted,  already  blinking  under  the  awaited  repri 
mand.  But  all  Desboro  said  was : 

"Don't  do  it  again,  Farris ;  there  are  some  things 
I  won't  overlook." 

He  sat  for  a  while  in  the  library  where  a  sheaf  of 
her  notes  lay  on  the  table  beside  a  pile  of  books — Gren- 
ville,  Vanderdyne,  Herrara's  splendid  folios — just  as 
she  had  left  them  on  Saturday  afternoon  for  the  long, 
happy  sleigh-ride  that  ended  just  in  time  for  him  to 
swing  her  aboard  her  train. 

89 


THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

He  had  plenty  to  do  beside  sitting  there  with  keen, 
gray  eyes  fixed  on  the  pile  of  manuscript  she  had  left 
unfinished ;  he  always  had  plenty  to  do,  and  seldom  did 
it. 

His  first  impulse  had  been  to  go  to  town.  Her  ab 
sence  was  making  the  place  irksome.  He  went  to  the 
long  windows  and  stood  there,  hands  in  his  pockets, 
smoking  and  looking  out  over  the  familiar  landscape — 
a  rolling  country,  white  with  snow,  naked  branches  glit 
tering  with  ice  under  the  gilded  blue  of  a  cloudless  sky, 
and  to  the  north  and  west,  low,  wooded  mountains — 
really  nothing  more  than  hills,  but  impressively  steep 
and  blue  in  the  distance. 

A  woodpecker,  one  of  the  few  feathered  winter  resi 
dents,  flickered  through  the  trees,  flashed  past,  and 
clung  to  an  oak,  sticking  motionless  to  the  bark  for 
a  minute  or  two,  bright  eyes  inspecting  Desboro,  be 
fore  beginning  a  rapid,  jerky  exploration  for  suste 
nance. 

The  master  of  Silverwood  watched  him,  then,  hands 
driven  deeper  into  his  pockets,  strolled  away,  glancing 
aimlessly  at  familiar  objects — the  stiff  and  rather  pic 
turesque  portraits  of  his  grandparents  in  the  dress  of 
1820;  the  atrocious  portraits  of  his  parents  in  the 
awful  costume  of  1870;  his  own  portrait,  life  size, 
mounted  on  a  pony. 

He  stood  looking  at  the  funny  little  boy,  with  the 
half  contemptuous,  half  curious  interest  which  a  man 
in  the  pride  of  his  strength  and  youth  sometimes  feels 
for  the  absurdly  clothed  innocence  of  what  he  was. 
And,  as  usual  when  noticing  the  picture,  he  made  a 
slight,  involuntary  effort  to  comprehend  that  he  had 
been  once  like  that;  and  could  not. 

90 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

At  the  end  of  the  library,  better  portraits  hung — 
his  great-grandmother,  by  Gilbert  Stuart,  still  fresh- 
coloured  and  clear  under  the  dim  yellow  varnish  which 
veiled  but  could  not  wither  the  delicate  complexion  and 
ardent  mouth,  and  the  pink  rosebud  set  where  the  folds 
of  her  white  kerchief  crossed  on  her  breast. 

And  there  was  her  husband,  too,  by  an  unknown  or 
forgotten  painter — the  sturdy  member  of  the  Provincial 
Assembly,  and  major  in  Colonel  Thomas's  Westchester 
Regiment — a  fine  old  fellow  in  his  queue-ribbon  and 
powdered  hair  standing  in  the  conventional  fortress 
port-hole,  framed  by  it,  and  looking  straight  out  of 
the  picture  with  eyes  so  much  like  Desboro's  that  it 
amused  people.  His  easy  attitude,  too,  the  idle  grace 
of  the  posture,  irresistibly  recalled  Desboro,  and  at 
the  moment  more  than  ever.  But  he  had  been  a  man 
of  vigour  and  of  wit  and  action;  and  he  was  lying  out 
there  in  the  snow,  under  an  old  brown  headstone  em 
bellished  with  cherubim ;  and  the  last  of  his  name 
lounged  here,  in  sight,  from  the  windows,  of  the  spot 
where  the  first  house  of  Desboro  in  America  had  stood, 
and  had  collapsed  amid  the  flames  started  by  Tarleton's 
blood-maddened  troopers. 

To  and  fro  sauntered  Desboro,  passing,  unnoticed, 
old-time  framed  engravings  of  the  Desboros  in  Charles 
the  Second's  time,  elegant,  idle,  handsome  men  in  peri 
wigs  and  half-armour,  and  all  looking  out  at  the  world 
through  port-holes  with  a  hint  of  the  race's  bodily 
grace  in  their  half  insolent  attitudes. 

But  office  and  preferment,  peace  and  war,  intrigue 
and  plot,  vigour  and  idleness,  had  narrowed  down 
through  the  generations  into  a  last  inheritance  for  this 
young  man ;  and  the  very  last  of  all  the  Desboros  now 

91 


THE  BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

idled  aimlessly  among  the  phantoms  of  a  race  that  per 
haps  had  better  be  extinguished. 

He  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  go  to  town  or 
to  remain  in  the  vague  hope  that  she  might  come  in 
the  afternoon. 

He  had  plenty  to  do — if  he  could  make  up  his  mind 
to  begin — accounts  to  go  over,  household  expenses, 
farm  expenses,  stable  reports,  agents'  memoranda  con 
cerning  tenants  and  leases,  endless  lists  of  necessary 
repairs.  And  there  was  business  concerning  the  estate 
neglected,  taxes,  loans,  improvements  to  attend  to — 
the  thousand  and  one  details  which  irritated  him  to  con 
sider  ;  but  which,  although  he  maintained  an  agent  in 
town,  must  ultimately  come  to  himself  for  the  final 
verdict. 

What  he  wanted  was  to  be  rid  of  it  all — sell  every 
thing,  pension  his  father's  servants,  and  be  rid  of  the 
entire  complex  business  which,  he  pretended  to  himself, 
was  slowly  ruining  him.  But  he  knew  in  his  heart 
where  the  trouble  lay,  and  that  the  carelessness,  extrava 
gance,  the  disinclination  for  self-denial,  the  impatient 
and  good-humoured  aversion  to  economy,  the  profound 
distaste  for  financial  detail,  were  steadily  wrecking  one 
of  the  best  and  one  of  the  last  of  the  .old-time  West- 
chester  estates. 

In  his  heart  he  knew,  too,  that  all  he  wanted  was  to 
concentrate  sufficient  capital  to  give  him  the  income  he 
thought  he  needed. 

No  man  ever  had  the  income  he  thought  he  needed. 
And  why  Desboro  required  it,  he  himself  didn't  know 
exactly ;  but  he  wanted  sufficient  to  keep  him  comfort 
able — enough  so  that  he  could  feel  he  might  do  any 
thing  he  chose,  when,  how,  and  where  he  chose,  with- 

92 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

out  fear  or  care  for  the  future.  And  no  man  ever 
lived  to  enjoy  such  a  state  of  mind,  or  to  do  these 
things  with  impunity. 

But  Desboro's  mind  was  bent  on  it ;  he  seated  him 
self  at  the  library  table  and  began  to  figure  it  out. 
Land  in  Westchester  brought  high  prices — not  exactly 
in  that  section,  but  near  enough  to  make  his  acreage 
valuable.  Then,  the  house,  stable,  garage,  greenhouses, 
the  three  farms,  barns,  cattle  houses,  water  supply, 
the  timber,  power  sites,  meadow,  pasture — all  these 
ought  to  make  a  pretty  figure.  And  he  jotted  it  down 
for  the  hundredth  time  in  the  last  two  years. 

Then  there  was  the  Desboro  collection.  That  ought 
to  bring 

He  hesitated,  his  pencil  finally  fell  on  the  table,  rolled 
to  the  edge  and  dropped;  and  he  sat  thinking  of  Jac 
queline  Nevers,  and  of  the  week  that  had  ended  as 
the  lights  of  her  train  faded  far  away  into  the  winter 
night. 

He  sat  so  still  and  so  long  that  old  Farris  came  twice 
to  announce  luncheon.  After  a  silent  meal  in  company 
with  the  dogs  and  cats  of  low  degree,  he  lighted  a  cig 
arette  and  went  back  into  the  library  to  resume  his 
meditations. 

Whatever  they  were,  they  ceased  abruptly  whenever 
the  distant  telephone  rang,  and  he  waited  almost  breath 
lessly  for  somebody  to  come  and  say  that  he  was  wanted 
on  the  wire.  But  the  messages  must  have  been  to  the 
cook  or  butler,  from  butcher,  baker,  and  gentlemen  of 
similar  professions,  for  nobody  disturbed  him,  and  he 
was  left  free  to  sink  back  into  the  leather  corner  of 
the  lounge  and  continue  his  meditations.  Once  the  fur 
tive  apparition  of  Mrs.  Quant  disturbed  him,  hovering 

95 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

ominously    at    the    library    door,   bearing   tumbler   and 

spoon. 

"I  won't  take  it,"  he  said  decisively. 

There  was  a  silence,  then : 

"Isn't  the  young  lady  coming,  Mr.  James?" 

"I  don't  know.     No,  probably  not  to-day." 

"Is — is  the   child  sick?"   she  stammered. 

"No,  of  course  not.     I  expect  she'll  be  here  in  the 

morning." 

She  was  not  there  in  the  morning.  Mr.  Mirk,  the 
little  old  salesman  in  the  silk  skull-cap,  telephoned  to 
Farris  that  Miss  Nevers  was  again  detained  in  town 
on  business  at  Mr.  Clydesdale's,  and  that  she  might 
employ  a  Mr.  Sissly  to  continue  her  work  at  Silver- 
wood,  if  .Mr.  Desboro  did  not  object.  Mr.  Desboro  was 
to  call  her  up  at  three  o'clock  if  he  desired  further 
information. 

Desboro  went  into  the  library  and  sat  down.  For  a 
while  his  idle  reflections,  uncontrolled,  wandered  around 
the  main  issue,  errant  satellites  circling  a  central 
thought  which  was  slowly  emerging  from  chaos  and 
taking  definite  weight  and  shape.  And  the  thought  was 
of  Jacqueline  Nevers. 

Why  was  he  waiting  here  until  noon  to  talk  to  this 
girl?  Why  was  he  here  at  all?  Why  had  he  not  gone 
South  with  the  others?  A  passing  fancy  might  be 
enough  to  arouse  his  curiosity;  but  why  did  not  the 
fancy  pass?  What  did  he  want  to  say  to  her?  What 
did  he  want  of  her?  Why  was  he  spending  time  think 
ing  about  her — disarranging  his  routine  and  habits 
to  be  here  when  she  came?  What  did  he  want  of  her? 
She  was  agreeable  to  talk  to,  interesting  to  watch, 

96 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

pretty,  attractive.  Did  he  want  her  friendship?  To 
what  end?  He'd  never  see  her  anywhere  unless  he 
sought  her  out ;  he  would  never  meet  her  in  any  circle  to 
which  he  had  been  accustomed,  respectable  or  otherwise. 
Besides,  for  conversation  he  preferred  men  to  women. 

What  did  he  want  with  her  or  her  friendship — or 
her  blue  eyes  and  bright  hair — or  the  slim,  girlish  grace 
of  her?  What  was  there  to  do?  How  many  more 
weeks  did  he  intend  to  idle  about  at  her  heels,  follow 
her,  look  at  her,  converse  with  her,  make  a  habit  of  her 
until,  now,  he  found  that  to  suddenly  break  the  habit 
of  only  a  week's  indulgence  was  annoying  him ! 

And  suppose  the  habit  were  to  grow.  Into  what 
would  it  grow?  And  how  unpleasant  would  it  be  to 
break  when,  in  the  natural  course  of  events,  circum 
stances  made  the  habit  inconvenient? 

And,  always,  the  main,  central  thought  was  grow 
ing,  persisting.  What  did  he  want  of  her?  He  was 
not  in  love  with  her  any  more  than  he  was  always  lightly 
in  love  with  feminine  beauty.  Besides,  if  he  were, 
what  would  it  mean?  Another  affair,  with  all  its  in 
itial  charm  and  gaiety,  its  moments  of  frivolity,  its 
moments  of  seriousness,  its  sudden  crisis,  its  combats, 
perplexities,  irresolution,  the  faint  thrill  of  its  deeper 
significance  startling  both  to  clearer  vision;  and  then 
the  end,  whatever  it  might  be,  light  or  solemn,  irrespon 
sible  or  care-ridden,  gay  or  sombre,  for  one  or  the 
other. 

What  did  he  want?  Did  he  wish  to  disturb  her 
tranquility?  Was  he  trying  to  awaken  her  to  some 
response?  And  what  did  he  offer  her  to  respond  to? 
The  flattery  of  his  meaningless  attentions,  or  the  hon 
our  of  falling  in  love  with  a  Desboro,  whose  left  hand 

97 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

only  would  be  offered  to  support  both  klim  white  hands 
of  hers? 

He  ought  to  have  gone  South,  and  he  knew  it,  now. 
Last  week  he  had  told  himself — and  her  occasionally — 
that  he  was  going  South  in  a  week.  And  here  he  was, 
his  head  on  his  hands  and  his  elbows  on  the  table, 
looking  vacantly  at  the  pile  of  manuscript  she  had  left 
there,  and  thinking  of  the  things  that  should  not  hap 
pen  to  them  both. 

And  who  the  devil  was  this  fellow  Sissly?  Why  had 
she  suddenly  changed  her  mind  and  suggested  a  crea 
ture  named  Sissly?  Why  didn't  she  finish  the  cata 
loguing  herself?  She  had  been  enthusiastic  about  it. 
Besides,  she  had  enjoyed  the  skating  and  sleighing, 
and  the  luncheons  and  teas,  and  the  cats  and  dogs — 
and  even  Mrs.  Quant.  She  had  said  so,  too.  And  now 
she  was  too  busy  to  come  any  more. 

Had  he  done  anything?  Had  he  been  remiss,  or 
had  he  ventured  too  many  attentions?  He  couldn't  re 
call  having  done  anything  except  to  show  her  plainly 
enough  that  he  enjoyed  being  with  her.  Nor  had  she 
concealed  her  bright  pleasure  in  his  companionship. 
And  they  had  become  such  good  comrades,  under 
standing  each  other's  moods  so  instinctively  now — and 
they  had  really  found  such  unfeigned  amusement  in 
each  other  that  it  seemed  a  pity — a  pity 

"Damn  it,"  he  said,  "if  she  cares  no  more  about  it 
than  that,  she  can  send  Sissly,  and  I'll  go  South !" 

But  the  impatience  of  hurt  vanity  died  away ;  the 
desire  to  see  her  grew ;  the  habit  of  a  single  week  was 
already  unpleasant  to  break.  And  it  would  be  un 
pleasant  to  try  to  forget  her,  even  among  his  own 
friends,  even  in  the  South,  or  in  drawing-rooms,  or  at 

98 


THE  BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

the  opera,  or  at  dances,  or  in  any  of  his  haunts  and 
in  any  sort  of  company. 

He  might  forget  her  if  he  had  only  known  her  bet 
ter,  discovered  more  of  her  real  self,  unveiled  a  little  of 
her  deeper  nature.  There  was  so  much  unexplored — 
so  much  that  interested  him,  mainly,  perhaps,  because 
he  had  not  discovered  it.  For  theirs  had  been  the  light 
est  and  gayest  of  friendships,  with  nothing  visible  to 
threaten  a  deeper  entente ;  merely,  on  her  part,  a  happy 
enjoyment  and  a  laughing  parrying  in  the  eternal  com 
bat  that  never  entirely  ends,  even  when  it  means  noth 
ing.  And  on  his  side  it  had  been  the  effortless  atten 
tions  of  a  man  aware  of  her  young  and  unspoiled 
charm — conscious  of  an  unusual  situation  which  always 
fascinates  all  men. 

He  had  had  no  intention,  no  idea,  no  policy  except  ta 
drift  as  far  as  the  tides  of  destiny  carried  him  in  her 
company.  The  situation  was  agreeable ;  if  it  became 
less  so,  he  could  take  to  the  oars  and  row  where  he 
liked. 

But  the  tides  had  carried  him  to  the  edge  of  waters 
less  clear;  he  was  vaguely  aware  of  it  now,  aware, 
too,  that  troubled  seas  lay  somewhere  behind  the 
veil. 

The  library  clock  struck  three  times.  He  got  up 
and  went  to  the  telephone  booth.  Miss  Nevers  was  there ; 
would  speak  to  him  if  he  could  wait  a  moment.  He 
waited.  Finally,  a  far  voice  called,  greeting  him  pleas 
antly,  and  explaining  that  matters  which  antedated 
her  business  at  Silverwood  had  demanded  her  personal 
attention  in  town.  To  his  request  for  particulars,  she 
said  that  she  had  work  to  do  among  the  jades  and 
Chinese  porcelains  belonging  to  a  Mr.  Clydesdale. 

99 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"I  know  him,"  said  Desboro  curtly.  "When  do  you 
finish?" 

"I  have  finished  for  the  present.  Later  there  is 
further  work  to  be  done  at  Mr.  Clydesdale's.  I  had 
to  make  certain  arrangements  before  I  went  to  you — 
being  already  under  contract  to  Mr.  Clydesdale,  and 
at  his  service  when  he  wanted  me." 

There  was  a  silence.  Then  he  asked  her  when  she 
was  coming  to  Silverwood. 

"Did  you  not  receive  my  message?"   she   asked. 

"About — what's  his  name?  Sissly?  Yes,  I  did,  but 
I  don't  want  him.  I  want  you  or  nobody!" 

"You  are  unreasonable,  Mr.  Desboro.  Lionel  Sissly 
is  a  very  celebrated  connoisseur." 

"Don't  you  want  to  come?" 

"I  have  so  many  matters  here " 

"Don't  you  want  to?"  he  persisted. 

"Why,  of  course,  I'd  like  to.  It  is  most  interesting 
work.  But  Mr.  Sissly " 

"Oh,  hang  Mr.  Sissly!  Do  you  suppose  he 
interests  me?  You  said  that  this  work  might 
take  you  weeks.  You  said  you  loved  it.  You 
apparently  expected  to  be  busy  with  it  until  it  was 
finished.  Now,  you  propose  to  send  a  man  called 
Sissly!  Why?" 

"Don't  you  know  that  I  have  other  things " 

"What  have  I  done,  Miss  Nevers?" 

"I  don't  understand  you." 

"What  have  I  done  to  drive  you  away?" 

"How  absurd!  Nothing!  And  you've  been  so  kind 
to  me " 

"You've  been  kind  to  me.  Why  are  you  no 
longer?" 

100 


THE   BUSINESS  :  OF  * 


"I  —  it's  a  question  —  of  business—  -matters  which'  'de 
mand  -  " 

"Will  }'ou  come  once  more?" 

No  reply. 

"Will  you?"  he  repeated. 

"Is  there  any  reason  -  " 

"Yes." 

Another  pause,  then  : 

"Yes,  I'll  come  —  if  there's  a  reason  -  " 

"When?" 

"To-morrow?" 

"Do  you  promise?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I'll  meet  you  as  usual." 

"Thank  you." 

He    said:      "How    is    your    skating    jacket    coming 
along?" 

"I  have  —  stopped  work  on  it." 

"Why?" 

"I  do  not  expect  to  —  have  time  —  for  skating." 

"Didn't  you  ever  expect  to   come   up  here   again?" 
he  asked  with  a  slight  shiver. 

"I  thought  that  Mr.  Sissly  could  do  what  was  neces 
sary." 

"Didn't    it    occur   to    you   that   you   were   ending    a 
friendship  rather  abruptly?" 

She  was  silent. 

"Don't    you    think    it    was    a    trifle    brusque,    Miss 
Nevers?" 

"Does  the  acquaintanceship  of  a  week  count  so  much 
with  you,  Mr.  Desboro?" 

"You  know  it  does." 

"No.    I  did  not  know  it.     If  I  had  supposed  so,  I 
101 


THJ?  BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

would  Have  written  you  a  polite  letter  regretting  that 
I  could  no  longer  personally  attend  to  the  business  in 
hand." 

"Doesn't  it  count  at  all  with  you?"  he  asked. 

"What?" 

"Our  friendship." 

"Our  acquaintanceship  of  a  single  week?  Why,  yes. 
I  remember  it  with  pleasure — your  kindness,  and  Mrs. 
Quant's " 

"How  on  earth  can  you  talk  to  me  that  way?" 

"I    don't   understand   you." 

"Then  I'll  say,  bluntly,  that  it  meant  a  lot  to  me, 
and  that  the  place  is  intolerable  when  you're  not  here. 
That  is  specific,  isn't  it?" 

"Very.  You  mean  that,  being  accustomed  to  hav 
ing  somebody  to  amuse  you,  your  own  resources  are 
insufficient." 

"Are  you  serious?" 

"Perfectly.  That  is  why  you  are  kind  enough  to 
miss  my  coming  and  going — because  I  amuse  you." 

"Do   you  think  that   way   about  me?" 

"I  do  when  I  think  of  you.  You  know  sometimes 
I'm  thinking  of  other  things,  too,  Mr.  Desboro." 

He  bit  his  lip,  waited  for  a  moment,  then: 

"If  you  feel  that  way,  you'll  scarcely  care  to  come 
up  to-morrow.  Whatever  arrangement  you  make  about 
cataloguing  the  collection  will  be  all  right.  If  I  am 
not  here,  communications  addressed  to  the  Olympian 
Club  will  be  forwarded " 

"Mr.   Desboro!" 

"Yes?" 

"Forgive   me — won't  you?" 

There  was  a  moment's  interval,  fraught  heavily  with 
102 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

the  possibilities  of  Chance,  then  the  silent  currents  of 
Fate  flowed  on  toward  her  appointed  destiny  and  his 
— whatever  it  was  to  be,  wherever  it  lay,  behind  the 
unstirring,  inviolable  veil. 

"Have  you  forgiven  me?" 

"And  you  me?"  he  asked. 

"I  have  nothing  to  forgive ;  truly,  I  haven't.  Why 
did  you  think  I  had?  Because  I  have  been  talking  flip 
pantly?  You  have  been  so  uniformly  considerate  and 
kind  to  me — you  must  know  that  it  was  nothing  you 
said  or  did  that  made  me  think — wonder — whether — 
perhaps " 

"What?"  he  insisted.  But  she  declined  further  ex 
planation  in  a  voice  so  different,  so  much  gayer  and 
happier  than  it  had  sounded  before,  that  he  was  content 
to  let  matters  rest — perhaps  dimly  surmising  something 
approaching  the  truth. 

She,  too,  noticed  the  difference  in  his  voice  as  he 
said : 

"Then  may  I  have  the  car  there  as  usual  to-morrow 
morning?" 

"Please." 

He  drew  an  unconscious  sigh  of  relief.  She  said 
something  more  that  he  could  scarcely  hear,  so  low  and 
distant  sounded  her  voice,  and  he  asked  her  to  repeat  it. 

"I  only  said  that  I  would  be  happy  to  go  back," 
came  the  far  voice. 

Quick,  unconsidered  words  trembled  on  his  lips  for 
utterance ;  perhaps  fear  of  undoing  what  had  been  done 
restrained  him. 

"Not  as  happy  as  I  will  be  to  see  you,"  he  said,  with 
an  effort. 

"Thank  you.     Good-bye,  Mr.  Desboro." 
103 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Good-bye." 

The  sudden  accession  of  high  spirits  filled  him  with 
delightful  impatience.  He  ranged  the  house  restlessly, 
traversing  the  hallway  and  silent  rooms.  A  happy  in 
clination  for  miscellaneous  conversation  impelled  him 
to  long-deferred  interviews  with  people  on  the  place. 
He  talked  business  to  Mrs.  Quant,  to  Michael,  the  ar 
mourer;  he  put  on  snow-shoes  and  went  cross  lots  to 
talk  to  his  deaf  head-farmer,  Vail.  Then  he  came  back 
and  set  himself  resolutely  to  his  accounts ;  and  after 
dinner  he  wrote  letters,  a  yellow  pup  dozing  on  his 
lap,  a  cat  purring  on  his  desk,  and  occasionally  patting 
with  tentative  paw  the  letter-paper  when  it  rustled. 

A  mania  for  cleaning  up  matters  which  had  accu 
mulated  took  possession  of  him — and  it  all  seemed  to 
concern,  in  some  occult  fashion,  the  coming  of  Jacque 
line  on  the  morrow — as  though  he  wished  to  begin 
again  with  a  clean  slate  and  a  conscience  undisturbed. 
But  what  he  was  to  begin  he  did  not  specify  to  him 
self. 

Bills — heavy  ones — he  paid  lightly,  drawing  check 
after  check  to  cover  necessities  or  extravagances,  go 
ing  straight  through  the  long  list  of  liabilities  incurred 
from  top  to  bottom. 

Later,  the  total  troubled  him,  and  he  made  himself 
do  a  thing  to  which  he  was  averse — balance  his  check 
book.  The  result  dismayed  him,  and  he  sat  for  a  while 
eyeing  the  sheets  of  carelessly  scratched  figures,  and 
stroking  the  yellow  pup  on  his  knees. 

"What  do  I  want  with  all  these  clubs  and  things?"  he 
said  impatiently.  "I  never  use  'em." 

On  the  spur  of  impulse,  he  began  to  write  resigna- 
104. 


THE    BUSINESS    OF    LIFE 

tions,  wholesale,  ridding  himself  of  all  kinds  of  incum- 
brances — shooting  clubs  in  Virginia  and  Georgia  and 
North  Carolina,  to  which  he  had  paid  dues  and  assess 
ments  for  years,  and  to  which  he  had  never  been  ;  fishing 
clubs  in  Maine  and  Canada  and  Nova  Scotia  and  Cali 
fornia ;  New  York  clubs,  including  the  Cataract,  the 
Old  Fort,  the  Palisades,  the  Cap  and  Bells,  keeping 
only  the  three  clubs  to  which  men  of  his  sort  are  sup 
posed  to  belong — the  Patroons,  the  Olympian,  and  his 
college  club.  But  everything  else  went — yacht  clubs, 
riding  clubs,  golf  clubs,  country  clubs  of  every  sort — 
everything  except  his  membership  in  those  civic,  educa 
tional,  artistic,  and  charitable  associations  to  which 
such  New  York  families  as  his  owed  a  moral  and  per 
petual  tribute. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  the  last  envelope  was 
sealed  and  stamped,  and  he  leaned  back  with  a  long, 
deep  breath  of  relief.  To-morrow  he  would  apply  the 
axe  again  and  lop  off  such  extravagances  as  saddle- 
horses  in  town,  and  the  two  cars  he  kept  there.  They 
should  go  to  the  auction  rooms ;  he'd  sell  his  Long  Is 
land  bungalow,  too,  and  the  schooner  and  the  power 
boats,  and  his  hunters  down  at  Cedar  Valley ;  and  with 
them  would  go  groom  and  chauffeur,  captain  and  me 
chanic,  and  the  thousand  maddening  expenses  that  were 
adding  daily  to  a  total  debt  that  had  begun  secretly  to 
appal  him. 

In  his  desk  he  knew  there  was  an  accumulated  mass 
of  unpaid  bills.  He  remembered  them  now  and  decided 
he  didn't  want  to  think  about  them.  Besides,  he'd  clear 
them  away  pretty  soon — settle  accounts  with  tailor, 
bootmaker,  haberdasher — with  furrier,  modiste  and 
jeweler — and  a  dull  red  settled  under  his  cheek  bones  as 

105 


THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

he  remembered  these  latter  bills,  which  he  would  scarcely 
care  to  exhibit  to  the  world  at  large. 

"Ass  that  I've  been,"  he  muttered,  absently  stroking 
the  yellow  pup.  Which  reflection  started  another  train 
of  thought,  and  he  went  to  a  desk,  unlocked  it,  pulled 
out  the  large  drawer,  and  carried  it  with  its  contents  to 
the  fireplace. 

The  ashes  were  still  alive  and  the  first  packet  of  let 
ters  presently  caught  fire.  On  them  he  laid  a  silken 
slipper  of  Mrs.  Clydesdale's  and  watched  it  shrivel  and 
burn.  Next,  he  tossed  handfuls  of  unassorted  trifles, 
letters,  fans,  one  or  two  other  slippers,  gloves  of  dif 
ferent  sizes,  dried  remnants  of  flowers,  programmes 
scribbled  over;  and  when  the  rubbish  burned  hotly,  he 
added  photographs  and  more  letters  without  even 
glancing  at  them,  except  where,  amid  the  flames,  he 
caught  a  momentary  glimpse  of  some  familiar  signa 
ture,  or  saw  some  pretty,  laughing  phantom  of  the 
past  glow,  whiten  to  ashes,  and  evaporate. 

Fire  is  a  great  purifier ;  he  felt  as  though  the  flames 
had  washed  his  hands.  Much  edified  by  the  moral  toilet, 
and  not  concerned  that  all  such  ablutions  are  entirely 
superficial,  he  watched  with  satisfaction  the  last  bit  of 
ribbon  shrivel,  the  last  envelope  flash  into  flame.  Then 
he  replaced  the  desk  drawer,  leaving  the  key  in  it — be 
cause  there  was  now  no  reason  why  all  the  world  and 
its  relatives  should  not  rummage  if  they  liked. 

He  remembered  some  letters  and  photographs  and 
odds  and  ends  scattered  about  his  rooms  in  town,  and 
made  a  mental  note  to  clear  them  out  of  his  life,  too. 

Mentally  detached,  he  stood  aloof  in  spirit  and  viewed 
with  interest  the  spectacle  of  his  own  regeneration,  and 
calmly  admired  it. 

106 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"I'll  cut  out  all  kinds  of  things,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"A  devout  girl  in  Lent  will  have  nothing  on  me.  Nix 
for  the  bowl!  Nix  for  the  fat  pat  hand!  Throw  up 
the  sponge!  Drop  the  asbestos  curtain!"  He  made 
pretence  to  open  an  imaginary  door:  "Ladies,  pass 
out  quietly,  please;  the  show  is  over." 

The  cat  woke  up  and  regarded  him  gravely;  he  said 
to  her: 

"You  don't  even  need  a  pocket-book,  do  you?  And 
you  are  quite  right ;  having  things  is  a  nuisance.  The 
less  one  owns  the  happier  one  is.  Do  you  think  I'll 
have  sense  enough  to  remember  this  to-morrow,  and 
not  be  ass  enough  to  acquire  more — a  responsibility, 
for  example?  Do  you  think  I  can  be  trusted  to  mind 
my  business  when  she  comes  to-morrow?  And  not  say 
something  that  I'll  be  surely  sorry  for  some  day — or 
something  she'll  be  sorry  for?  Because  she's  so  pretty, 
pussy — so  disturbingly  pretty — and  so  sweet.  And  I 
ought  to  know  by  this  time  that  intelligence  and  beauty 
are  a  deadly  combination  I  had  better  let  alone  until 
I  find  them  in  the  other  sort  of  girl.  That's  the  trou 
ble,  pussy."  He  lifted  the  sleepy  cat  and  held  it  at 
arm's  length,  where  it  dangled,  purring  all  the  while. 
"That's  the  trouble,  kitty.  I  haven't  the  slightest  in 
tentions ;  and  as  for  friends,  men  prefer  men.  And 
that's  the  truth,  between  you  and  me.  It's  rather  rot 
ten,  isn't  it,  pussy?  But  I'll  be  careful,  and  if  I  see 
that  she  is  capable  of  caring  for  me,  I'll  go  South  be 
fore  it  hurts  either  of  us.  That  will  be  the  square  thing 
to  do,  I  suppose — and  neither  of  us  the  worse  for  an 
other  week  together." 

He  placed  the  cat  on  the  floor,  where  it  marched  to 
and  fro  with  tail  erect,  inviting  further  attentions.  But 

107 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Desboro  walked  about,  turning  out  the  electric  lights, 
and  presently  took  himself  off  to  bed,  fixed  in  a  resolu 
tion  that  the  coming  week  should  be  his  last  with  this 
unusual  girl.  For,  after  all,  he  concluded  she  had  not 
moved  his  facile  imagination  very  much  more  than  had 
other  girls  of  various  sorts,  whose  souvenirs  lay  now  in 
cinders  on  his  hearth,  and  long  since  had  turned  to  ashes 
in  his  heart. 

What  was  the  use?  Such  affairs  ended  one  way  or 
another — but  they  always  ended.  All  he  wanted  to  find 
out,  all  he  was  curious  about,  was  whether  such  an 
unusual  girl  could  be  moved  to  response — he  merely 
wanted  to  know,  and  then  he  would  let  her  alone,  and 
no  harm  done — nothing  to  disturb  the  faint  fragrance 
of  a  pretty  souvenir  that  he  and  she  might  carry  for  a 
while — a  week  or  two — perhaps  a  month — before  they 
both  forgot. 

And,  conscious  of  his  good  intentions,  feeling  tran 
quil,  complacent,  and  slightly  noble,  he  composed  him 
self  to  slumber,  thinking  how  much  happier  this  world 
would  be  if  men  invariably  behaved  with  the  self-control 
that  occasionally  characterised  himself. 

In  the  city,  Jacqueline  lay  awake  on  her  pillow,  un 
able  to  find  a  refuge  in  sleep  from  the  doubts,  questions, 
misgivings  assailing  her. 

Wearied,  impatient,  vexed,  by  turns,  that  her  impulse 
and  decision  should  keep  her  sleepless — that  the  thought 
of  going  back  to  Silverwood  should  so  excite  her,  she 
turned  restlessly  in  her  bed,  unwilling  to  understand, 
humiliated  in  heart,  ashamed,  vaguely  afraid. 

Whv  should  she  have  responded  to  an  appeal  from 
such  a  man  as  Desboro?  Her  own  calm  judgment  had 

108 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

been  that  they  had  seen  enough  of  each  other — for  the 
present,  anyway.  Because  she  knew,  in  her  scared  soul, 
that  she  had  not  meant  it  to  be  final — that  some 
obscure  idea  remained  of  seeing  him  again,  somewhere. 

Yet,  something  in  his  voice  over  the  wire — and  some 
thing  more  disturbing  still  when  he  spoke  so  coolly  about 
going  South — had  swayed  her  in  her  purpose  to  remain 
aloof  for  a  while.  But  there  was  no  reason,  after  all, 
for  her  to  take  it  so  absurdly.  She  would  go  once 
more,  and  then  permit  a  long  interval  to  elapse  before 
she  saw  him  again.  If  she  actually  had,  as  she  began  to 
believe,  an  inclination  for  his  society,  she  would  show 
herself  that  she  could  control  that  inclination  perfectly. 

Why  should  any  man  venture  to  summon  her — for 
it  was  a  virtual  summons  over  the  wire — and  there  had 
been  arrogance  in  it,  too.  His  curt  acquiescence  in  her 
decision,  and  his  own  arbitrary  decision  to  go  South 
had  startled  her  out  of  her  calmly  prepared  role  of 
business  woman.  She  was  trying  to  recall  exactly  what 
she  had  said  to  him  afterward  to  make  his  voice  change 
once  more,  and  her  own  respond  so  happily. 

Why  should  seeing  him  be  any  unusual  happiness 
to  her — knowing  who  and  what  he  had  been  and  was — 
a  man  of  the  out-world  with  which  she  had  not  one 
thing  in  common — a  man  who  could  mean  nothing  to 
her — could  not  even  remain  a  friend  because  their  two 
lives  would  never  even  run  within  sight  of  each  other. 

She  would  never  know  anybody  he  knew.  They 
would  never  meet  anywhere  except  at  Silverwood.  How 
could  they,  once  the  business  between  them  was  trans 
acted?  She  couldn't  go  to  Silverwood  except  on  busi 
ness;  he  would  never  think  of  coming  here  to  see  her. 
Could  she  ask  him — venture,  perhaps,  to  invite  him  to 

109 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

dinner  with  some  of  her  friends  ?  Which  friends  ?  Cyn 
thia  and — who  else?  The  girls  she  knew  would  bore 
him ;  he'd  have  only  contempt  for  the  men. 

Then  what  did  all  this  perplexity  mean  that  was 
keeping  her  awake?  And  why  was  she  going  back  to 
Silverwood  ?  Why  !  Why !  Was  it  to  see  with  her  own 
eyes  the  admiration  for  herself  in  his?  She  had  seen  it 
more  than  once.  Was  it  to  learn  more  about  this  man 
and  his  liking  for  her — to  venture  a  guess,  perhaps,  as 
to  how  far  that  liking  might  carry  him  with  a  little 
encouragement — which  she  would  not  offer,  of  course? 

She  began  to  wonder  how  much  he  really  did  like  her 
— how  greatly  he  might  care  if  she  never  were  to  see 
him  again.  Her  mind  answered  her,  but  her  heart 
appealed  wistfully  from  the  clear  decision. 

Lying  there,  blue  eyes  open  in  the  darkness,  head 
cradled  on  her  crossed  arms,  she  ventured  to  recall  his 
features,  summoning  them  shyly  out  of  space ;  and  she 
smiled,  feeling  the  tension  subtly  relaxing. 

Then  she  drifted  for  a  while,  watching  his  expression, 
a  little  dreading  lest  even  his  phantom  laugh  at  her  out 
of  those  eyes  too  wise. 

Visions  came  to  her  awake  to  reassure  her ;  he  and  she 
in  a  sleigh  together  under  the  winter  stars — he  and  she 
in  the  sunlight,  their  skates  flashing  over  the  frozen 
meadows — he  and  she  in  the  armoury,  heads  together 
over  some  wonder  of  ancient  craftsmanship — he  and 
she  at  luncheon — in  the  library — always  he  and  she 
together  in  happy  companionship.  Her  eyelids  flut 
tered  and  drooped;  and  sleep  came,  and  dreams — won 
derful,  exquisite,  past  belief — and  still  of  him  and  of 
herself  together,  always  together  in  a  magic  world 
that  could  not  be  except  for  such  as  they. 

110 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHEN  the  sombre    morning    broke  at  last,  Jac 
queline   awoke,   sprang  from  her  bed,   and 
fluttered     away     about     her     dressing     as 
blithely  as  an  April  linnet  in  a  hurry. 

She  had  just  time  to  breakfast  and  catch  her  train, 
with  the  help  of  heaven  and  a  taxicab,  and  she  managed 
to  do  it  about  the  same  moment  that  Desboro,  half  a 
hundred  miles  away,  glanced  out  of  his  dressing-room 
window  and  saw  the  tall  trees  standing  like  spectres  in 
the  winter  fog,  and  the  gravel  of  the  drive  shining  wet 
and  muddy  through  melting  snow.  But  he  turned  to 
the  mirror  again,  whistling  a  ga.j  air,  and  twisted  his 
necktie  into  a  smarter  knot.  Then  he  went  out  to  the 
greenhouses  and  snipped  off  enough  carnations  to  make 
a  great  sheaf  of  clove-scented  blossoms  for  Jacqueline's 
room;  and  after  that  he  proceeded  through  the  other 
sections  of  the  fragrant  glass  galleries,  cutting,  right 
and  left,  whatever  he  considered  beautiful  enough  to  do 
her  fresh,  young  beauty  honour. 

At  the  station,  he  saw  her  standing  on  the  platform 
of  the  drawing-room  car  as  the  train  thundered  in, 
veil  and  raincoat  blowing,  just  as  he  had  seen  her  there 
the  first  time  she  arrived  at  Silverwood  station. 

The  car  steps  were  sheathed  in  ice;  she  had  already 
ventured  down  a  little  way  when  he  reached  her  and 
offered  aid ;  and  she  permitted  him  to  swing  her  to  the 
cinder-strewn  ground. 

Ill 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

"Are  you  really  here!"  he  exclaimed,  oblivious  of  in 
terested  glances  from  trainmen  and  passengers. 

They  exchanged  an  impulsive  hand-clasp.  Both  were 
unusually  animated. 

"Are  you  well?"  she  asked,  as  though  she  had  been 
away  for  months. 

"Yes.  Are  }rou?  It's  perfectly  fine  of  you  to  come" 
— still  retaining  her  hand — "I  wonder  if  you  know  how 
glad  I  am  to  see  you !  I  wonder  if  you  really  do !" 

She  started  to  say  something,  hesitated,  blushed, 
then  their  hands  parted,  and  she  answered  lightly : 

"What  a  very  cordial  welcome  for  a  business  girl 
on  a  horrid  day !  You  mustn't  spoil  me,  Mr.  Des- 
boro." 

"I  was  afraid  you  might  not  come,"  he  said ;  and  in 
discreet  impulse  prompted  her  to  answer,  as  she  had 
first  answered  him  there  on  the  platform  two  weeks 
ago: 

"Do  you  suppose  that  mere  weather  could  have  kept 
me  away  from  the  famous  Desboro  collection?" 

The  charming  malice  in  her  voice,  the  delightful 
impertinence  of  her  reply,  so  obviously  at  variance  with 
fact,  enchanted  him.  She  was  conscious  of  its  effect 
on  him,  and,  already  slightly  excited,  ventured  to  laugh 
at  her  own  thrust  as  though  challenging  his  self-con 
ceit  to  believe  that  she  had  even  grazed  herself  with  the 
two-edged  weapon. 

"Do  I  count  for  absolutely  nothing?"  he  said. 

"Do  you  flatter  yourself  that  I  returned  to  see  you?" 

"Let  me  believe  it  for  just  one  second." 

"I  don't  doubt  that  you  will  secretly  and  triumph 
antly  believe  it  all  the  time." 

"If  I  dared " 

112 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Is  that  sort  of  courage  lacking  in  you,  Mr.  Des- 
boro?  I  have  heard  otherwise.  And  how  long  are  we 
going  to  remain  here  on  this  foggy  platform?" 

Here  was  an  entirely  new  footing ;  but  in  the  delight 
ful  glow  of  youthful  indiscretion  she  still  maintained 
her  balance  lightly,  mockingly. 

"Please  tell  me,"  she  said,  as  they  entered  the  car, 
and  he  drew  the  big  fur  robe  around  her,  "just  how 
easily  you  believe  in  your  own  overpowering  attrac 
tions.  Do  women  encourage  you  in  such  modest  faith 
in  yourself?  Or  are  you  merely  created  that  way?" 

"The  house  has  been  a  howling  wilderness  without 
you,"  he  said.  "I  admit  my  loneliness,  anyway." 

"7  admit  nothing.     Besides,  I  wasn't." 

"Is  that  true?" 

She  laughed  tormentingly,  eyes  and  cheeks  brilliant, 
now  undisguisedly  on  guard — her  first  acknowledgment 
that  in  this  man  she  condescended  to  divine  the  heredi 
tary  adversary. 

"I  mean  to  punish,"  said  her  eyes. 

"What  an  attack  from  a  clear  sky  on  a  harmless 
young  man,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"No,  an  attack  from  the  fog  on  an  insufferable 
egoist — an  ambush,  Mr.  Desboro.  And  I  thought  a 
little  sword-play  might  do  your  complacent  wits  a 
service.  Has  it?" 

"But  you  begin  by  a  dozen  thrusts,  then  beat  down 
my  guard,  and  cuff  me  about  with  blade  and  pom 
mel " 

"I  had  to.  Now,  does  your  vanity  believe  that  my 
return  to  Silverwood  was  influenced  by  your  piteous  ap 
peal  over  the  wire — and  your  bad  temper,  too?" 

"No,"  he  said  solemnly. 

113 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Well,  then !  I  came  here  partly  to  put  my  notes  in 
better  shape  for  Mr.  Sissly,  partly  to  clear  up  odds  and 
ends  and  leave  him  a  clear  field  to  plow — in  your  per 
sistent  company,"  she  added,  with  such  engaging  ma 
lice  that  even  the  name  of  Sissly,  which  he  hated,  made 
him  laugh. 

"You  won't  do  that,"  he  said  confidently. 

"Do  what,  Mr.  Desboro?" 

"Turn  me  over  to  anything  named  Sissly." 

"Indeed,  I  will — you  and  your  celebrated  collection! 
Of  course  you  could  go  South,  but,  judging  from  your 
devotion  to  the  study  of  ancient  armour " 

"You  don't  mean  it,  do  you?" 

"What?     About  your  devotion?" 

"No,  about  Sissly." 

"Yes,  I  do.  Listen  to  me,  Mr.  Desboro.  I  made  up 
my  mind  that  sleighing,  and  skating,  and  luncheon  and 
tea,  and — you,  are  not  good  for  a  busy  girl's  business 
career.  I'm  going  to  be  very  practical  and  very  frank 
with  you.  I  don't  belong  here  except  on  business,  and 
you  make  it  so  pleasant  and  unbusinesslike  for  me  that 
my  conscience  protests.  You  see,  if  the  time  I  now 
take  to  lunch  with  you,  tea  with  you,  skate,  sleigh,  talk, 
listen,  in  your  very  engaging  company  is  properly  em 
ployed,  I  can  attend  to  yards  and  yards  of  business  in 
town.  And  I'm  going  to.  I  mean  it,  please,"  as  he 
began  to  smile. 

His  smile  died  out.     He  said,  quietly: 

"Doesn't  our  friendship  count  for  anything?" 

She  looked  at  him;  shrugged  her  shoulders: 

"Oh,  Mr.  Desboro,"  she  said  pleasantly,  "does  it, 
really?'9 

The  blue  eyes  were  clear  and  beautiful,  and  a  little 
114 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

grave;  only  the  upcurled  corners  of  her  mouth  prom 
ised  anything. 

The  car  drew  up  at  the  house ;  she  sprang  out  and 
ran  upstairs  to  her  room.  He  heard  her  in  animated 
confab  with  Mrs.  Quant  for  a  few  minutes,  then  she 
came  down  in  her  black  business  gown,  with  narrow 
edges  of  lawn  at  collar  and  cuffs,  and  the  bright  lock 
already  astray  on  her  cheek.  A  white  carnation  was 
tucked  into  her  waist ;  the  severe  black  of  her  dress,  as 
always,  made  her  cheeks  and  lips  and  golden  hair  more 
brilliant  by  contrast. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "for  my  notes.  And  what  are  you 
going  to  do  while  I'm  busy?" 

"Watch  you,  if  I  may.  You've  heard  about  the  pro 
verbial  cat?" 

"Care  killed  it,  didn't  it?" 

"Yes ;  but  it  had  a  good  look  at  the  Queen  first." 

A  smile  touched  her  eyes  and  lips — a  little  wistfully. 

"You  know,  Mr.  Desboro,  that  I  like  to  waste  time 
with  you.  Flatter  your  vanity  with  that  confession. 
And  even  if  things  were — different — but  they  couldn't 
ever  be — and  I  must  work  very  hard  if  I'm  ever  going 
to  have  any  leisure  in  my  old  age.  But  come  to  the 
library  for  this  last  day,  and  smoke  as  usual.  And  you 
may  talk  to  amuse  me,  if  you  wish.  Don't  mind  if  I'm 
too  busy  to  answer  your  folly  in  kind." 

They  went  together  to  the  library;  she  placed  the 
mass  of  notes  in  front  of  her  and  began  to  sort  them 
— turned  for  a  second  and  looked  around  at  him  with 
adorable  malice,  then  bent  again  to  the  task  before  her. 

"Miss  Nevers !" 

"Yes?" 

"You  will  come  to  Silverwood  again,  won't  you?" 
115 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 


She  wrote  busily  with  a  pencil. 

"Won't  you?" 

She  made  some  marginal  notes  and  he  looked  at  the 
charming  profile  in  troubled  silence. 

About  ten  minutes  later  she  turned  leisurely,  tucking 
up  the  errant  strand  of  hair  with  her  pencil : 


"She    turned   leisurely.     .     .     .     'Did   you    say    any 
thing  recently,  Mr.   Desboro?' ' 

"Did  you  say  anything  recently,  Mr.  Desboro?" 

"Out  of  the  depths,  yes.     The  voice  in  the  wilderness 

as  usual  went  unheeded.     I  wished  to  explain  to  you 

how  we  might  give  up  our  skating  and  sleighing  and 

everything  except  the  bare  necessities — and  you  could 

still  come  to  Silverwood  on  business " 

116 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"What  are  the  'bare  necessities'?" 

"Your  being  here  is  one " 

"Answer  me  seriously,  please." 

"Food,  then.     We  must  eat." 

She  conceded  that  much. 

"We've  got  to  motor  to  and  from  the  station !" 

She  admitted  that,  too. 

"Those,"  he  pointed  out,  "are  the  bare  necessities. 
We  can  give  up  everything  else." 

She  sat  looking  at  him,  playing  absently  with  her 
pencil.  After  a  while,  she  turned  to  her  desk  again, 
and,  bending  over  it,  began  to  make  meaningless  marks 
with  her  pencil  on  the  yellow  pad. 

"What  is  the  object,"  she  said,  "of  trying  to  make 
me  forget  that  I  wouldn't  be  here  at  all  except  on 
business  ?" 

"Do  you  think  of  that  every  minute?" 

"I— must." 

"It  isn't  necessary." 

"It  is  imperative,  Mr.  Desboro — and  you  know  it." 

She  wrote  steadily  for  a  while,  strapped  a  bundle  of 
notes  with  an  elastic  band,  laid  it  aside,  and  turned 
around,  resting  her  arm  on  the  back  of  the  chair. 
Blue  eyes  level  with  his,  she  inspected  him  curiously. 
And,  if  the  tension  of  excitement  still  remained,  all  her 
high  spirits  and  the  indiscreet  impulses  of  a  gay  self- 
confidence  had  vanished.  But  curiosity  remained — the 
eternal,  insatiable  curiosity  of  the  young. 

How  much  did  this  man  really  mean  of  what  he  said 
to  her?  What  did  his  liking  for  her  signify  other  than 
the  natural  instinct  of  an  idle  young  man  for  any 
pretty  girl?  What  was  he  going  to  do  about  it?  For 
she  seemed  to  be  conscious  that,  sooner  or  later,  some- 

117 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

where,     sometime,     he     would     do     something     further 
about  it. 

Did  he  mean  to  make  love  to  her  sometime?  Was  he 
doing  it  now?  It  resembled  the  preliminaries;  she  rec 
ognised  them — had  been  aware  of  them  almost  from 
the  very  first. 

Men  had  made  love  to  her  before — men  in  her  own 
wrorld,  men  in  his  world.  She  had  learned  something 
since  her  father  died — not  a  great  deal ;  perhaps  more 
from  hearsay  than  from  experience.  But  some  un 
pleasant  knowledge  had  been  acquired  at  first  hand; 
two  clients  of  her  father's  had  contributed,  and  a  stu 
dent,  named  Harroun,  and  an  amateur  of  soft  paste 
statuettes,  the  Rev.  Bertie  Dawley. 

Innocently  and  wholesomely  equipped  to  encounter 
evil,  cool  and  clear  eyed  mistress  of  herself  so  far,  she 
had  felt,  with  happy  contempt,  that  her  fate  was  her 
own  to  control,  and  had  wondered  what  the  word  "temp 
tation"  could  mean  to  any  woman. 

What  Cynthia  had  admitted  made  her  a  little  wiser, 
but  still  incredulous.  Cold,  hunger,  debts,  loneliness 
— these  were  not  enough,  as  Cynthia  herself  had  said* 
Nor,  after  all,  was  Cynthia's  liking  for  Cairns.  Which 
proved  conclusively  that  woman  is  the  arbiter  of  her 
own  destiny. 

Desboro,  one  knee  crossed  over  the  other,  sat  look 
ing  into  the  fire,  which  burned  in  the  same  fireplace 
where  he  had  recently  immolated  the  frivolous  souvenirs 
of  the  past. 

Perhaps  some  gay  ghost  of  that  scented  sacrifice  took 
shape  for  a  moment  in  the  curling  smoke,  for  he  sud 
denly  frowned  and  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes  in  boy 
ish  impatience. 

118 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

Something — the  turn  of  his  head  and  shoulders — the 
shape  of  them — she  did  not  know  what — seemed  to  set 
her  heart  beating  loudly,  ridiculously,  without  any  ap 
parent  reason  on  earth.  Too  much  surprised  to  be  dis 
turbed,  she  laid  her  slim  hand  on  her  breast,  then 
against  her  throat,  till  her  pulses  grew  calmer. 

Resting  her  chin  on  her  arm,  she  gazed  over  her 
shoulder  into  the  fire.  He  had  laid  another  log  across 
the  flames ;  she  watched  the  bark  catch  fire,  dully  con 
scious,  now,  that  her  ideas  were  becoming  as  irrespon 
sible  and  as  reasonless  as  the  sudden  stirring  of  her 
heart  had  been. 

For  she  was  thinking  how  odd  it  would  be  if,  like 
Cynthia,  she  too,  ever  came  to  care  about  a  man  of 
Desboro's  sort.  She'd  see  to  it  that  she  didn't;  that 
was  all.  There  were  other  men.  Better  still,  there 
were  to  be  no  men;  for  her  mind  fastidiously  refused 
to  consider  the  only  sort  with  whom  she  felt  secure — 
her  intellectual  inferiors  whose  moral  worthiness  bored 
her  to  extinction. 

Musing  there,  half  turned  on  her  chair,  she  saw  Des- 
boro  rise,  still  looking  intently  into  the  fire,  and  stand 
so,  his  well-made,  graceful  figure,  in  silhouette,  edged 
with  the  crimson  glow. 

"What  do  you  see  in  it,  Mr.  Desboro?" 

He  turned  instantly  and  came  over  to  her : 

"A  bath  of  flames  would  be  very  popular,"  he  said, 
"if  burning  didn't  hurt.  I  was  just  thinking  about  it 
— how  to  invent " 

She  quoted :  "  'But  I  was  thinking  of  a  plan  to  dye 
one's  whiskers  green.' ' 

He  said:  "I  suppose  you  think  me  as  futile  as  that 
old  man  'a-settin'  on  a  gate.'  " 

119 


THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Your  pursuits  seem  to  be  about  as  useful  as  his." 

"Why  should  I  pursue  things?     I  don't  want  'em." 

"You  are  hopeless.  There  is  pleasure  even  in  pur 
suit  of  anything,  no  matter  whether  you  ever  attain  it 
or  not.  I  will  never  attain  wisdom,  but  it's  a  pleasure 
to  pursue  it." 

"It's  a  pleasure  even  to  pursue  pleasure — and  it's 
the  only  pleasure  in  pleasure,"  he  said,  so  gravely  that 
for  a  moment  she  thought  with  horror  that  he  was  try 
ing  to  be  precious.  Then  the  latent  glimmer  in  his 
eyes  set  them  laughing,  and  she  rose  and  went  over  to 
the  sofa  and  curled  up  in  one  corner,  abandoning  all 
pretense  of  industry. 

"Once,"  she  said,  "I  knew  a  poet  who  emitted  such 
precious  thoughts.  He  was  the  funniest  thing ;  he  had 
the  round,  pale,  ancient  eyes  of  an  African  parrot,  a 
pasty  countenance,  and  a  derby  hat  resting  on  top  of 
a  great  bunch  of  colourless  curly  hair.  And  that's  the 
way  he  talked,  Mr.  Desboro !" 

He  seated  himself  on  the  other  arm  of  the  sofa: 

"Did  you  adore  him?" 

"At  first.  He  was  a  celebrity.  He  did  write  some 
pretty  things." 

"What  woke  you  up?" 

She  blushed. 

"I  thought  so,"  observed  Desboro. 

"Thought  what?" 

"That  he  came  out  of  his  trance  and  made  love  to 
you." 

"How  did  you  know?  Wasn't  it  dreadful!  And  he'd 
always  told  me  that  he  had  never  experienced  an  emo 
tion  except  when  adoring  the  moon.  He  was  a  very 
dreadful  young  man — perfectly  horrid  in  his  ideas — 

120 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

and  I  sent  him  about  his  business  very  quickly;  and  I 
remember  being  a  little  frightened  and  watching  him 
from  the  window  as  he  walked  off  down  the  street  in 
his  soiled  drab  overcoat  and  the  derby  hat  on  his  friz 
zly  hair,  and  his  trousers  too  high  on  his  ankles " 

Desboro  was  so  immensely  amused  at  the  picture  she 
drew  that  her  pretty  brows  unbent  and  she  smiled,  too. 

"What  did  he  want  of  you?"  he  asked. 

"I    didn't    fully    understand   at    the   time "    she 

hesitated,  then,  with  an  angry  blush:  "He  asked  me 
to  go  to  Italy  with  him.  And  he  said  he  couldn't  marry 
me  because  he  had  already  espoused  the  moon !" 

Desboro's  laughter  rang  through  the  old  library ; 
and  Jacqueline  was  not  quite  certain  whether  she  liked 
the  way  he  took  the  matter  or  not. 

"I  know  him,"  said  Desboro.  "I've  seen  him  about 
town  kissing  women's  hands,  in  company  with  a  larger 
and  fatter  one.  Isn't  his  name  Munger?" 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

"Certainly.  And  the  fat  one's  name  is  Waudle. 
They  were  a  hot  team  at  fashionable  literary  stunts — 
the  Back  Alley  Club,  you  know." 

"No,  I  don't  know." 

"Oh,  it's  just  silly;  a  number  of  fashionable  and 
wealthy  young  men  and  women  pin  on  aprons,  now  and 
then,  and  paint  and  model  lumps  of  wet  clay  in  several 
severely  bare  studios  over  some  unfragrant  stables. 
They  proudly  call  it  The  Back  Alley  Club." 

"Why  do  you  sneer  at  it?" 

"Because  it  isn't  the  real  thing.  It's  a  strutting 
ground  for  things  like  Munger  and  Waudle,  and  all 
the  rag-tag  that  is  always  sniffing  and  snuffling  at  the 
back  doors  of  the  fine  arts." 

121 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"At  least,"  she  said,  "they  sniff." 

He  said,  good-humouredly :  "Yes,  and  I  don't  even  do 
that.  Is  that  what  you  mean?" 

She  considered  him :     "Haven't  you  any  profession  ?" 

"I'm  a  farmer." 

"Why  aren't  you  busy  with  it,  then?" 

"I  have  been,  disastrously.  There  was  a  sickening 
deficit  this  autumn." 

She  said,  with  pretty  scorn :  "I'll  wager  I  could 
make  your  farm  pay." 

He  smiled  lazily,  and  indulgently.  After  a  moment 
he  said: 

"So  the  spouse  of  the  moon  wanted  you  to  go  to 
Italy  with  him?" 

She  nodded  absently :  "A  girl  meets  queer  men  in 
the  world." 

"Did  you  ever  meet  any  others?" 

She  looked  up  listlessly:     "Yes,  several." 

"As  funny  as  the  poet?" 

"If  you  call  him  funny." 

"I  wonder  who  they  were,"  he  mused. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  Reverend  Bertie  Dawley?" 

"No." 

"He  was  one." 

"That  kind?" 

"Oh,  yes.  He  collects  soft  paste  figurines;  he  was 
a  client  of  father's ;  but  I  found  very  soon  that  I 
couldn't  go  near  him.  He  has  a  wife  and  children, 
too,  and  he  keeps  sending  his  wife  to  call  on  me.  You 
know  he's  a  good-looking  young  man,  too,  and  I  liked 
him;  but  I  never  dreamed 

"Sure,"  he  said,  disgusted  at  his  own  sex — with  the 
exception  of  himself. 

122 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"That  seems  to  be  the  way  of  it,"  she  said  thought 
fully.  "You  can't  be  friends  with  men ;  they  all  an 
noy  you  sooner  or  later  in  one  way  or  another !" 

"Annoy  you?     Do  you  mean  make  love  to  you?" 

"Yes." 

'7  don't;  do  I?" 

She  bent  her  head  and  sat  playing  with  the  petals 
of  the  white  carnation  drooping  on  her  breast. 

"No,"  she  said  calmly.     "You  don't  annoy  me." 

"Would  it  seriously  annoy  you  if  I  did  make  love  to 
you  some  day?"  he  asked,  lightly. 

Instinct  was  wrhispering  hurriedly  to  her:  "Here  it 
is  at  last.  Do  something  about  it,  and  do  it  quick !" 
She  waited  until  her  heart  beat  more  regularly,  then: 

"You  couldn't  annoy — make  love — to  a  girl  you 
really  don't  care  for.  That  is  very  simple,  isn't  it?" 

"Suppose  I  did  care  for  you." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  troubled  eyes,  then  low 
ered  them  to  the  blossom  from  which  her  fingers  were 
detaching  petal  after  petal. 

"If  you  did  really  care,  you  wouldn't  tell  me,  Mr. 
Desboro." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  it  would  not  be  fair  to  me."  A  flush  of 
anger — or  she  thought  it  was,  brightened  her  cheeks. 
"This  is  nonsense,"  she  said  abruptly.  "And  I'll  tell 
you  another  thing;  I  can't  come  here  again.  You 
know  I  can't.  We  talk  foolishness — don't  you  know 
it?  And  there's  another  reason,  anyway." 

"What  reason?" 

"The  real  reason,"  she  said,  clenching  both  hands. 
"You  know  what  it  is  and  so  do  I — and — and  I'm  tired 
of  pretending  that  the  truth  isn't  true." 

123 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"What  is  the  truth?" 

She  had  turned  her  back  on  him  and  was  staring  out 
of  the  windows  into  the  mist. 

"The  truth  is,"  she  answered  deliberately,  "that  you 
and  I  can  not  be  friends." 

"Why?" 

"Because  we  can't  be!  Because — men  are  always 
men.  There  isn't  any  way  for  men  and  women  to  be 
friends.  Forgive  me  for  saying  it.  But  it  is  quite 
true.  A  business  woman  in  your  employment — can't 
forget  that  a  real  friendship  with  you  is  impossible. 
That  is  why,  from  the  very  beginning,  I  wanted  it  to 
be  purely  a  matter  of  business  between  us.  I  didn't 
really  wish  to  skate  with  you,  or  do  anything  of  that 
kind  with  you.  I'd  rather  not  lunch  with  you;  I — I 
had  rather  you  drew  the  line — and  let  me  draw  it 
clearly,  cleanly,  and  without  mistake — as  I  draw  it  be 
tween  myself  and  my  employees.  If  you  wish,  I  can 
continue  to  come  here  on  that  basis  until  my  work  is 
finished.  Otherwise,  I  shall  not  come  again." 

Her  back  was  still  toward  him. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  bluntly. 

She  heard  him  rise  and  walk  toward  the  door;  sat 
listening  without  turning  her  head,  already  regretting 
what  she  had  said.  And  now  she  became  conscious 
that  her  honesty  with  herself  and  with  him  had  been  a 
mistake,  entailing  humiliation  for  her — the  humiliation 
of  letting  him  understand  that  she  couldn't  afford  to 
care  for  him,  and  that  she  did  already.  She  had 
thought  of  him  first,  and  of  herself  last — had  conceded 
a  hopeless  situation  in  order  that  her  decision  might 
not  hurt  his  vanity. 

It  had  been  a  bad  mistake.  And  now  he  might  be 
124 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

thinking  that  she  had  tried  to  force  him  into  an  atti 
tude  toward  herself  which  she  could  not  expect,  or — 
God  knew  what  he  might  be  thinking. 

Dismayed  and  uncertain,  she  stood  up  nervously  as 
he  reentered  the  room  and  came  toward  her,  holding 
out  his  hand. 

"I'm  going  to  town,"  he  said  pleasantly.  "I  won't 
bother  you  any  more.  Remain ;  come  and  go  as  you 
like  without  further  fear  of  my  annoying  you.  The 
servants  are  properly  instructed.  They  will  be  at  your 
orders.  I'm  sorry — I  meant  to  be  more  agreeable. 
Good-bye,  Miss  Nevers." 

She  laid  her  hand  in  his,  lifelessly,  then  withdrew  it. 
Dumb,  dreadfully  confused,  she  looked  up  at  him ;  then, 
as  he  turned  coolly  away,  an  inarticulate  sound  of  pro 
test  escaped  her  lips.  He  halted  and  turned  around. 

"It  isn't  fair — what  you  are  doing — Mr.  Desboro." 

"What  else  is  there  to  do?" 

"Why  do  you  ask  me?  WHiy  must  the  burden  of  de 
cision  always  rest  with  me?" 

"But  my  decision  is  that  I  had  better  go.  I  can't 
remain  here  without — annoying  you." 

"Why  can't  you  remain  here  as  my  employer?  Why 
can't  we  enjoy  matter-of-fact  business  relations?  I  ask 
no  more  than  that — I  want  no  more.  I  am  afraid  you 
think  I  do  expect  more — that  I  expect  friendship.  It  is 
impossible,  unsuitable — and  I  don't  even  wish  for 
it " 

"I  do,"  he  said. 

"How  can  we  be  friends,  from  a  social  standpoint? 
There  is  nothing  to  build  on,  no  foundation — nothing 
for  friendship  to  subsist  on " 

"Could  you  and  I  meet  anywhere  in  the  world  and 
125 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

become  less  than  friends?"  he  asked.  "Tell  me  hon 
estly.  It  is  impossible,  and  you  and  I  both  know  it." 

And,  as  she  made  no  reply:  "Friends — more  than 
friends,  possibly;  never  less.  And  you  know  it,  and  so 
do  I,"  he  said  under  his  breath. 

She  turned  sharply  toward  the  window  and  looked 
out  across  the  foggy  hills. 

"If  that  is  what  you  believe,  Mr.  Desboro,  perhaps 
you  had  better  go." 

"Do  you  send  me?" 

"Always  the  decision  seems  to  lie  with  me.  Why  do 
you  not  decide  for  yourself?" 

"I  will ;  and  for  you,  too,  if  you  will  let  me  relieve  you 
of  the  burden." 

"I  can  carry  my  own  burdens." 

Her  back  was  still  toward  him.  After  a  moment  she 
rested  her  head  against  the  curtained  embrasure,  as 
though  tired. 

He  hesitated;  there  were  good  impulses  in  him,  but 
he  went  over  to  her,  and  scarcely  meaning  to,  put  one 
arm  lightly  around  her  waist. 

She  laid  her  hands  over  her  face,  standing  so,  golden 
head  lowered  and  her  heart  so  violent  that  she  could 
scarcely  breathe. 

"Jacqueline." 

A  scarcely  perceptible  movement  of  her  head,  in  sign 
that  she  listened. 

"Are  we  going  to  let  anything  frighten  us?"  He 
had  not  meant  to  say  that,  either.  He  was  adrift,  knew 
it,  and  meant  to  drop  anchor  in  a  moment.  "Tell  me 
honestly,"  he  added,  "don't  you  want  us  to  be  friends  ?" 

She  said,  her  hands  still  over  her  face: 

"I  didn't  know  how  much  I  wanted  it.  I  don't  see, 
12G 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

even  now,  how  it  can  be.  Your  own  friends  are  dif 
ferent.  But  I'll  try— if  you  wish  it." 

"I  do  wish  it.  Why  do  you  think  my  friends  are  so 
different  from  you?  Because  some  happen  to  be  fash 
ionable  and  wealthy  and  idle?  Besides,  a  man  has  many 
different  kinds  of  friends " 

She  thought  to  herself:  "But  he  never  forgets  to 
distinguish  between  them.  And  here  it  is  at  last — 
almost.  And  I — I  do  care  for  him !  And  here  I  am — 
like  Cynthia — asking  myself  to  pardon  him." 

She  looked  up  at  him  out  of  her  hands,  a  little  pale, 
then  down  at  his  arm,  resting  loosely  around  her  waist. 

"Don't  hold  me  so,  please,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Of  course  not."  But  instead  he  merely  took  her 
slender  hands  between  his  own,  which  were  not  very 
steady,  and  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes.  Such  men 
can  do  it,  somehow.  Besides,  he  really  meant  to  con 
trol  himself  and  cast  anchor  in  a  moment  or  two. 

"Will  you  trust  me  with  your  friendship?"  he  said. 

"I — seem  to  be  doing  it.  I  don't  exactly  understand 
what  I  am  doing.  Would  you  answer  me  one  ques 
tion?" 

"If  I  can,  Jacqueline." 

"Then,  friendship  is  possible  between  a  man  and  a 
woman,  isn't  it?"  she  insisted  wistfully. 

"I  don't  know." 

"What!  Why  don't  you  know?  It's  merely  a  mat 
ter  of  mutual  interest  and  respect,  isn't  it?" 

"I've  heard  so." 

"Then  isn't  a  friendship  between  us  possible  without 
anything  threatening  to  spoil  it?  Isn't  it  to  be  just  a 
matter  of  enjoying  together  what  interests  each?  Isn't 
it?  Because  I  don't  mind  waiving  social  conditions 

127 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

that  can't  be  helped,  and  conventions  that  we  simply 
can't  observe." 

"Yes,  you  wonderful  girl,"  he  said  under  his  breath, 
meaning  to  anchor  at  once.  But  he  drifted  on. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  forcing  a  little  laugh,  "I  am 
rather  wonderful,  to  be  so  honest  with  a  man  like  you. 
There's  so  much  about  you  that  I  don't  care  for." 

He  laughed,  enchanted,  still  retaining  her  hands  be 
tween  his  own,  the  palms  joined  together,  flat. 

"You're  so  wonderful,"  he  said,  "that  you  make  the 
most  wonderful  masterpiece  in  the  Desboro  collection 
look  like  a  forgery." 

She  strove  to  speak  lightly  again :  "Even  the  gilding 
on  my  hair  is  real.  You  didn't  think  so  once,  did 
you?" 

"You're  all  real.  You  are  the  most  real  thing  I've 
ever  seen  in  the  world!" 

She  tried  to  laugh:  "You  mustn't  Relieve  that  I've 
never  before  been  real  when  I've  been  with  you.  And 
I  may  not  be  real  again,  for  a  long  time.  Make  the 
most  of  this  moment  of  expansive  honesty,  Mr.  Des 
boro.  I'll  remember  presently  that  you  are  an  heredi 
tary  enemy." 

"Have  I  ever  acted  that  part?" 

"Not  toward  me." 

He  reddened:     "Toward  whom?" 

"Oh,"  she  said,  with  sudden  impatience,  "do  you  sup 
pose  I  have  any  illusions  concerning  the  sort  of  man 
you  are?  But  what  do  I  care,  as  long  as  you  are  nice 
to  me?"  she  laughed,  more  confidently.  "Men!"  she 
repeated.  "I  know  something  about  them !  And,  know 
ing  them,  also,  I  nevertheless  mean  to  make  a  friend  of 
one  of  them.  Do  you  think  I'll  succeed?" 

128 


THE    BUSINESS    OF    LIFE 

He  smiled,  then  bent  lightly  and  kissed  her  joined 
hands. 

"Luncheon  is  served,"  came  the  emotionless  voice  of 
Farris  from  the  doorway.  Their  hands  fell  apart ;  Jac 
queline  blushed  to  her  hair  and  gave  Desboro  a  lovely, 
abashed  look. 

She  need  not  have  been  disturbed.  Farris  had  seen 
such  things  before. 

That  evening,  Desboro  went  back  to  New  York  with 
her  and  took  her  to  her  own  door  in  a  taxicab. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you  can't  dine  writh  me?"  he 
asked  again,  as  they  lingered  on  her  doorstep. 

"I  could— but " 

"But  you  won't!" 

One  of  her  hands  lay  lightly  on  the  knob  of  the 
partly  open  door,  and  she  stood  so,  resting  and  looking 
down  the  dark  street  toward  the  distant  glare  of  elec 
tricity  where  Broadway  crossed  at  right  angles. 

"We  have  been  together  all  day,  Mr.  Desboro.  I'd 
rather  not  dine  with  you — yet." 

"Are  you  going  to  dine  all  alone  up  there?"  glanc 
ing  aloft  at  the  lighted  windows  above  the  dusky  old 
shop. 

"Yes.  Besides,  you  and  I  have  wasted  so  much  time 
to-day  that  I  shall  go  down  stairs  to  the  office  and  do 
a  little  work  after  dinner.  You  see  a  girl  always  has  to 
pay  for  her  transgressions." 

"I'm  terribly  sorry,"  he  said  contritely.  "Don't 
work  to-night!" 

"Don't  be  sorry.  I've  really  enjoyed  to-day's  lazi 
ness.  Only  it  mustn't  be  like  this  to-morrow.  And 
anywray,  I  knew  I'd  have  to  make  it  up  to-night." 

120 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"I'm  terribly  sorry,"  he  said  again,  almost  tenderly. 
"But  you  mustn't  be,  Mr.  Desboro.     It  was  worth 


He  looked  up,  surprised,  flushing  with  emotion;  and 
the  quick  colour  in  her  cheeks  responded.  They  re 
mained  very  still,  and  confused,  and  silent,  as  fire  an 
swered  fire;  suddenly  aware  how  fast  they  had  been 
drifting. 

She  turned,  nervously,  pushed  open  the  door,  and 
entered  the  vestibule;  he  held  the  door  ajar  for  her 
while  she  fitted  her  key  with  unsteady  fingers. 

"So  —  thank  you,"  she  said,  half  turning  around, 
"but  I  won't  dine  with  you  —  to-night." 

"Then,  perhaps,  to-morrow  - 

"Don't  come  into  town  with  me  to-morrow,  Mr.  Des 
boro." 

"I'm  coming  in  anyway." 

"Why?" 

"There's  an  affair  —  a  kind  of  a  dance.  There  are  al 
ways  plenty  of  things  to  take  me  into  town  in  the 
evenings." 

"Is  that  why  you  came  in  to-night?"  She  knew  she 
should  not  have  said  it. 

He  hesitated,  then,  with  a  laugh  :  "I  came  in  to  town. 
because  it  gave  me  an  hour  longer  with  you.  Are  you 
going  to  send  me  away  now?"  And  her  folly  was  an 
swered  in  kind. 

She  said,  confused  and  trying  to  smile:  "You  say 
things  that  you  don't  mean.  Evening,  for  us,  must 
always  mean  'good-night.'  ' 

"Why,  Jacqueline?" 

"Because.  Also,  it  is  my  hour  of  freedom.  You 
wouldn't  take  that  away  from  me,  would  you?" 

130 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"What  do  you  do  in  the  evenings?" 

"Sew,  read,  study,  attend  to  the  thousand  wretched 
little  details  which  concern  my  small  household.  And, 
sometimes,  when  I  have  wasted  the  day,  I  make  it  up  at 
night.  Because,  whether  I  have  enojyed  it  or  not,  this 
day  has  been  wasted." 

"But  sometimes  you  dine  out  and  go  to  the  theatre 
and  to  dances  and  things?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  gravely.  "But  you  know  there  is  no 
meeting  ground  there  for  us,  don't  you?" 

"Couldn't  you  ask  me  to  something?" 

"Yes — I  could.  But  you  wouldn't  care  for  the  peo 
ple.  You  know  it.  They  are  not  like  the  people  to 
whom  you  are  accustomed.  They  would  only  bore  you." 

"So  do  many  people  I  know." 

"Not  in  the  same  way.  Why  do  you  ask  me?  You 
know  it  is  better  not."  She  added  smilingly :  "There  is 
neither  wealth  nor  fashion  nor  intellectual  nor  social 
distinction  to  be  expected  among  my  friends " 

She  hesitated,  and  added  quietly:  "You  understand 
that  I  am  not  criticising  them.  I  am  merely  explain 
ing  them  to  you.  Otherwise,  I'd  ask  you  to  dinner 
with  a  few  people — I  can  only  have  four  at  a  time,  my 
dining  room  is  so  small " 

"Ask  me,  Jacqueline!"  he  insisted. 

She  shook  her  head ;  but  he  continued  to  coax  and 
argue  until  she  had  half  promised.  And  now  she  stood, 
facing  him  irresolutely,  conscious  of  the  steady  drift 
that  was  forcing  her  into  uncharted  channels  with 
this  persuasive  pilot  who  seemed  to  know  no  more  of 
what  lay  ahead  of  them  than  did  she. 

But  there  was  to  be  no  common  destination ;  she 
understood  that.  Sooner  or  later  she  must  turn  back 

131 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

toward  the  harbour  they  had  left  so  irresponsibly  to 
gether,  her  brief  voyage  over,  her  last  adventure  with 
this  man  ended  for  all  time. 

And  now,  as  the  burden  of  decision  still  seemed  to 
rest  upon  her,  she  offered  him  her  hand,  saying  good 
night  ;  and  he  took  it  once  more  and  held  it  between 
both  of  his.  Instantly  the  impending  constraint  closed 
in  upon  them ;  his  face  became  grave,  hers  serious,  al 
most  apprehensive. 

"You  have — have  made  me  very  happy,"  he  said. 
"Do  you  know  it,  Jacqueline?" 

"Yes." 

A  curious  lassitude  was  invading  her ;  she  leaned 
sideways  against  the  door  frame,  as  though  tired,  and 
stood  so,  one  hand  abandoned  to  him,  gazing  into  the 
lamp-lit  street. 

"Good-night,  dear,"  he  whispered. 

"Good-night." 

She  still  gazed  into  the  lamplit  darkness  beyond  him, 
her  hand  limp  in  his ;  and  he  saw  her  blue  eyes,  heavy 
lidded  and  dreamy,  and  the  strand  of  hair  curling  gold 
against  her  cheek. 

When  he  kissed  her,  she  dropped  her  head,  covering 
her  face  with  her  forearm,  not  otherwise  stirring — as 
though  the  magic  pageant  of  her  fate  which  had  been 
gathering  for  two  weeks  had  begun  to  move  at  last, 
passing  vision-like  through  her  mind  with,  a  muffled 
uproar — sweeping  on,  on,  brilliant,  disarrayed,  timed 
by  the  deafening  beating  of  her  heart. 

Dully  she  realised  that  it  was  here  at  last — all 
that  she  had  dreaded — if  dread  be  partly  made  of 
hope! 

"Are  you  crying?"  he  said,  unsteadily. 
132 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

She  lifted  her  face  from  her  arm,  like  a  dazed  child 
awaking. 

"You  darling,"  he  whispered. 

Eyes  remote,  she  stood  watching  unseen  things  in  the 
darkness  beyond  him. 

"Must  I  go,  Jacqueline?" 

"Yes." 

"You  are  very  tired,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"You  won't  sit  up  and  work,  will  you?" 

"No." 

"Will  you  go  straight  to  bed?" 

She  nodded  slowly,  yielding  to  him  as  he  drew  her 
into  his  arms. 

"To-morrow,  then?"  he  asked  under  his  breath. 

"Yes." 

"And  the  next  day,  and  the  next,  and  next, 
and — always,  Jacqueline?"  he  demanded,  almost 
fiercely. 

After  a  moment  she  slowly  turned  her  head  and  looked 
at  him.  There  was  no  answer,  and  no  question  in  her 
gaze,  only  the  still,  expressionless  clairvoyance  of  a 
soul  that  sees  but  does  not  heed. 

There  wras  no  misunderstanding  in  her  eyes,  nothing 
wistful,  nothing  afraid  or  hurt — nothing  of  doubt. 
What  had  happened  to  others  in  the  world  was  hap 
pening  now  to  her.  She  understood  it;  that  was  all — 
as  though  the  millions  of  her  sisters  who  had  passed 
that  way  had  left  to  her  the  dread  legacy  of  familiarity 
with  the  smooth,  wide  path  they  had  trodden  since  time 
began  on  earth.  And  here  it  was,  at  last !  Her  own 
calmness  surprised  her. 

He  detained  her  for  another  moment  in  a  swift  em- 
133 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

brace ;  inert,  unresponsive,  she  stood  looking  down  at 
the  crushed  gardenia  in  his  buttonhole,  dully  conscious 
of  being  bruised.  Then  he  let  her  go ;  her  hand  fell 
from  his  arm ;  she  turned  and  faced  the  familiar  stairs 
and  mounted  them. 

Dinner  waited  for  her ;  whether  she  ate  or  not,  she 
could  not  afterward  remember.  About  eleven  o'clock, 
she  rose  wearily  from  the  bed  where  she  had  been  lying, 
and  began  to  undress. 

As  for  Desboro,  he  had  gone  straight  to  his  rooms 
very  much  excited  and  unbalanced  by  the  emotions  of 
the  moment. 

He  was  a  man  not  easily  moved  to  genuine  expres 
sion.  Having  acquired  certain  sorts  of  wrorldly  wis 
dom  in  a  career  more  or  less  erratic,  experience  had  left 
him  unconvinced  and  even  cynical — or  he  thought  it 
had. 

But  nowr,  for  the  moment,  all  that  lay  latent  in  him 
of  that  impetuous  and  heedless  vigour  which  may  be 
come  strength,  if  properly  directed,  was  awakening. 
Every  recurring  memory  of  her  had  already  begun  to 
tamper  with  his  self-control;  for  the  emotions  of  the 
moments  just  ended  had  been  confusingly  real;  and, 
whatever  they  were  arousing  in  him,  now  clamoured  for 
some  sort  of  expression. 

The  very  thought  of  her,  now,  began  to  act  on  him 
like  some  freshening  perfume  alternately  stimulating 
and  enervating.  He  made  the  effort  again  and  again, 
and  could  not  put  her  from  his  mind,  could  not  forget 
the  lowered  head  and  the  slender,  yielding  grace  of  her, 
and  her  fragrance,  and  her  silence. 

Dressing  in  his  rooms,  growing  more  restless  every 
134 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

moment,  he  began  to  walk  the  floor  like  some  tormented 
thing  that  seeks  alleviation  in  purposeless  activity. 

He  said,  half  aloud,  to  himself: 

"I  can't  go  on  this  way.  This  is  damn  foolish !  I've 
got  to  find  out  where  it's  landing  me.  It  will  land  her, 
too — somewhere.  I'd  better  keep  away  from  her,  go 
off  somewhere,  get  out,  stop  seeing  her,  stop  remem 
bering  her ! — if  she's  what  I  think  she  is." 

Scowling,  he  went  to  the  window  and  jerked  aside 
the  curtain.  Across  the  street,  the  Olympian  Club 
sparkled  with  electricity. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  muttered.  "What  a  tempest  in  a 
teapot!  What  the  devil's  the  matter  with  me?  Can't 
I  kiss  a  girl  now  and  then  and  keep  my  senses?" 

It  seemed  that  he  couldn't,  in  the  present  instance, 
for  after  he  had  bitten  the  amber  stem  of  his  pipe  clean 
through,  he  threw  the  bowl  into  the  fireplace.  It  had 
taken  him  two  years  to  colour  it. 

"Idiot!"  he  said  aloud.  "What  are  you  sorry  about? 
You  know  damn  well  there  are  only  two  kinds  of 
women,  and  it's  up  to  them  what  sort  they  are — not  up 
to  any  man  who  ever  lived!  What  are  you  sorry  for? 
For  her?" 

He  stared  across  the  street  at  the  Olympian  Club. 
He  was  expected  there. 

"If  she  only  wasn't  so — so  expressionless  and — silent 
about  it.  It's  like  killing  something  that  lets  you  do  it* 
That's  a  crazy  thing  to  think  of!" 

Suddenly  he  found  he  had  a  fight  on  his  hands.  He 
had  never  had  one  like  it;  didn't  know  exactly  what  to 
do,  except  to  repeat  over  and  over: 

"It  isn't  square — it  isn't  square.  She  knows  it,  too. 
She's  frightened.  She  knows  it  isn't  square.  There?s 

135 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

nothing  ahead  but  hell  to  pay !  She  knows  it.  And 
she  doesn't  defend  herself.  There  are  only  two  kinds 
of  women.  It  is  up  to  them,  too.  But  it's  like  killing 
something  that  lets  you  kill  it.  Good  God !  What  a 
damn  fool  I  am !" 

Later  he  repeated  it.  Later  still  he  found  himself 
leaning  over  his  desk,  groping  blindly  about  for  a  pen, 
and  cursing  breathlessly  as  though  he  had  not  a  mo 
ment  to  lose. 

He  wrote: 

"DEAR  LITTLE  JAcauEUNE:  I'm  not  going  to  see 
you  again.  Where  the  fool  courage  to  write  this  comes 
from  I  don't  know.  But  you  will  now  learn  that  there 
is  nothing  to  me  after  all — not  even  enough  of  posi 
tive  and  negative  to  make  me  worth  forgiveness.  And 
so  I  let  it  go  at  that.  Good-bye.  DESBORO." 

In  the  same  half  blind,  half  dazed  way,  cursing 
something  all  the  while,  he  managed  to  seal,  stamp,  and 
direct  the  letter,  and  get  himself  out  of  the  house 
with  it. 

A  club  servant  at  the  Olympian  mailed  it ;  he  con 
tinued  on  his  way  to  the  dining  room,  and  stumbled 
into  a  chair  between  Cairns  and  Reggie  Ledyard,  who^ 
were  feasting  noisily  and  unwisely  with  Stuyvesant  Van 
Alstyne ;  and  the  racket  and  confusion  seemed  to  help 
him.  He  \vas  conscious  of  laughing  and  talking  and 
drinking  a  great  deal — conscious,  too,  of  the  annoy 
ance  of  other  men  at  other  tables.  Finally,  one  of  the 
governors  came  over  and  very  pleasantly  told  him  to 
shut  up  or  go  elsewrhere. 

They    all    went,    with    cheerfulness    unimpaired    by 
136 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

gubernatorial  admonition.  There  was  a  large  dinner 
dance  for  debutantes  at  the  Barkley's.  This  function 
they  deigned  to  decorate  with  their  presence  for  a 
while,  Cairns  and  Van  Alstyne  behaving  well  enough, 
considering  the  manners  of  the  times ;  Desboro,  a  dull 
fire  smouldering  in  his  veins,  wandered  about,  haunted 
by  a  ghost  whose  soft  breath  touched  his  cheek. 

His  manners  were  good  when  he  chose;  they  were 
always  faultless  when  he  was  drunk.  Perfectly  steady 
on  his  legs,  very  pale,  and  a  trifle  over  polite,  the 
drunker  he  was  the  more  courtly  he  invariably  became, 
measuredly  graceful,  in  speech  reticent.  Only  his  pal 
lor  and  the  lines  about  his  mouth  betrayed  the  tension. 

Later,  one  or  two  men  familiar  with  the  house 
stroDed  into  the  distant  billiard  room  and  discovered 
him  standing  there  looking  blankly  into  space. 

Ledyard,  bad  tempered  when  he  had  dined  too  well, 
announced  that  he  had  had  enough  of  that  debutante 
party : 

"Look  at  'em,"  he  said  to  Desboro.  "Horrible  little 
fluffs  just  out  of  the  incubator — with  their  silly  brains 
and  rotten  manners,  and  their  'Bunny  Hugs'  and  'Tur 
key  Trots'  and  'Dying  Chickens,'  and  the  champagne 
flaming  in  their  baby  cheeks !  Why,  their  mothers  are 
letting  'em  dance  like  -piles  de  Brasserie!  Men  used  to 
know  where  to  go  for  that  sort  of  thing " 

Cairns,  balancing  gravely  on  heels  and  toes,  waved 
one  hand  comprehensively. 

"Problem  was,"  he  said,  "how  to  keep  the  young  at 
home.  Bunny  Hug  solves  it.  See?  All  the  comforts 
of  the  Tenderloin  at  home.  Tha's  'splaination." 

"Come  on  to  supper,"  said  Ledyard.  "Your  Blue 
Girl  will  be  there,  Jim." 

137 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"By  all  means,"  said  Dcsboro  courteously.  "My  car 
is  entirely  at  your  disposal."  But  he  made  no  move 
ment. 

"Come  to  supper,"  insisted  Ledyard. 

"Commer  supper,"  echoed  Cairns  gravely.  "Whaz- 
zer  mazzer?  Commer  supper!" 

"Nothing,"  said  Desboro,  "could  give  me  greater 
pleasure."  He  rose,  bowed  courteously  to  Ledyard,  in 
cluded  Cairns  in  a  graceful  salute,  and  reseated  himself. 

Ledyard  lost  his  temper  and  began  to  shout  at  him. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  my  inexcusable  absent- 
mindedness,"  said  Desboro,  getting  slowly  onto  his  feet 
once  more.  With  graceful  precision,  he  made  his  way 
:o  his  hostess  and  took  faultless  leave  of  her,  Cairns 
and  Ledyard  attempting  vainly  to  imitate  his  poise, 
urbanity  and  self-possession. 

The  icy  air  of  the  street  did  Cairns  good  and  aided 
Ledyard.  So  they  got  themselves  out  across  the  side 
walk  and  ultimately  into  Desboro's  town  car,  which 
was  waiting,  as  usual. 

"Little  bunny-hugging,  bread-and-butter  beasts," 
muttered  Ledyard  to  himself.  "Lord!  Don't  they 
want  us  to  draw  the  line  between  them  and  the  sort 
we're  to  meet  at  supper?" 

"They're  jus'  fools,"  said  Cairns.  "No  harm  in  'em! 
And  I'm  not  going  to  supper.  I'll  take  you  there  an' 
go'me !" 

"Whats  the  matter  with  you?"  demanded  Ledyard. 

"No—I'm  through,  that's  all.  You  'suit  nice  li'l 
debutantes.  Rotten  bad  taste.  Nice  li'l  debbys." 

"Come  on,  you  jinx!" 

"That  girl  in  blue.  Will  she  be  there — the  one  who 
does  the  lute  solo  in  'The  Maid  of  Shiraz'?" 

138 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Yes,  but  she's  crazy  about  Desboro." 

"I  waive  all  pretension  to  the  charming  condescen 
sion  of  that  very  lovely  young  lady,  and  cheerfully  con 
cede  your  claims,"  said  Desboro,  raising  his  hat  and 
wrecking  it  against  the  roof  of  the  automobile. 

"As  you  wish,  dear  friend.  But  why  so  suddenly  the 
solitary  recluse?" 

"A  personal  reason,  I  assure  you." 

"I  see,"  remarked  Ledyard.  "And  what  may  be  the 
name  and  quality  of  this  personal  reason?  And  is  she 
a  blonde?" 

Desboro  shrugged  his  polite  impatience.  But  when 
the  others  got  out  at  the  Santa  Regina  he  followed. 
Cairns  was  inclined  to  shed  a  few  tears  over  Ledyard's 
insults  to  the  "debbys." 

"Sure,"  said  the  latter,  soothingly.  "The  brimming 
beaker  for  you,  dear  friend,  and  it  will  pass  away. 
Hark !  I  hear  the  fairy  f eetsteps  of  a  houri !"  as  they 
landed  from  the  elevator  and  encountered  a  group  of 
laughing,  bright-eyed  young  girls  in  the  hallway,  seek 
ing  the  private  supper  room. 

One  of  them  was  certainly  the  girl  in  blue.  The 
others  appeared  to  Desboro  as  merely  numerous  and, 
later,  exceedingly  noisy.  But  noise  and  movement 
seemed  to  make  endurable  the  dull  pain  thudding  cease 
lessly  in  his  heart.  Music  and  roses,  flushed  faces,  the 
ringing  harmony  of  crystal  and  silver,  and  the  gaiety 
a  diable  of  the  girl  beside  him  would  ease  it — must 
ease  it,  somehow.  For  it  had  to  be  first  eased,  then 
killed.  There  was  no  sense,  no  reason,  no  excuse  for 
going  on  this  way — enduring  such  a  hurt.  And  just 
at  present  the  remedy  seemed  to  lie  in  a  gay  uproar  and 
many  brilliant  lights,  and  in  the  tinted  lips  of  the  girl 

139 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

beside  him,  babbling  nonsense  while  her  dark  eyes 
laughed,  promising  all  they  laughed  at — if  he  cared 
to  ask  an  answer  to  the  riddle. 

But  he  never  asked  it. 

Later  somebody  offered  a  toast  to  Desboro,  but  when 
they  looked  around  for  him  in  the  uproar,  glasses  aloft, 
he  had  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THERE  was  no  acknowledgment  of  his  note  to 
Jacqueline  the  day  following;  none  the  next 
day,  or  the  next.  It  was  only  when  telephon 
ing  to  Silverwood  he  learned  by  chance  from  Mrs. 
Quant  that  Jacqueline  had  been  at  the  house  every  day 
as  usual,  busy  in  the  armoury  with  the  work  that  took 
her  there. 

He  had  fully  expected  that  she  would  send  a  substi 
tute;  had  assumed  that  she  would  not  wish  to  return 
and  take  the  chance  of  his  being  there. 

What  she  had  thought  of  his  note  to  her,  what  she 
might  be  thinking  of  him,  had  made  him  so  miserable 
that  even  the  unwisdom  of  excess  could  not  dull  the  pain 
of  it  or  subdue  the  restless  passion  ever  menacing  him 
with  a  shameful  repudiation  of  the  words  he  had  writ 
ten  her.  He  had  fought  one  weakness  with  another, 
and  there  was  no  strength  in  him  now.  He  knew  it,  but 
stood  on  guard. 

For  he  knew,  too,  in  his  heart  that  he  had  nothing 
to  offer  her  except  a  sentiment  which,  in  the  history  of 
man,  has  never  been  anything  except  temporary.  With 
it,  of  course,  and  part  of  it,  was  a  gentler  inclination 
— love,  probably,  of  one  sort  or  another — with  it  went 
also  genuine  admiration  and  intellectual  interest,  and 
sympathy,  and  tenderness  of  some  unanalysed  kind. 

But  he  knew  that  he  had  no  intention  of  marrying 
anybody — never,  at  least,  of  marrying  out  of  his  own 

141 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

social  environment.  That  he  understood  fully ;  had 
wit  and  honesty  enough  to  admit  to  himself.  And  so 
there  was  no  way — nothing,  now,  anyway.  He  had 
settled  that  definitely — settled  it  for  her  and  for  him 
self,  unrequested;  settled,  in  fact,  everything  except 
how  to  escape  the  aftermath  of  restless  pain  for  which 
there  seemed  to  be  no  remedy  so  far — not  even  the 
professional  services  of  old  Doctor  Time.  However, 
it  had  been  only  three  days — three  sedative  pills  from 
the  old  gentleman's  inexhaustible  supply.  It  is  the 
regularity  of  taking  it,  more  than  the  medicine  itself 
which  cures. 

On  the  fourth  day,  he  emerged  from  the  unhappy 
seclusion  of  his  rooms  and  ventured  into  the  Olympian 
Club,  where  he  deliberately  attempted  to  anaesthetise 
his  badly  battered  senses.  But  he  couldn't.  Cairns 
found  him  there,  sitting  alone  in  the  library — it  was 
not  an  intellectual  club — and  saw  what  Desboro  had 
been  doing  to  himself  by  the  white  tensity  of  his  fea 
tures. 

"Look  here,"  he  said.  "If  there's  really  anything 
the  matter  with  you,  why  don't  you  go  into  business 
and  forget  it?  You  can't  fool  real  trouble  with  what 
you  buy  in  bottles !" 

"What  business  shall  I  go  into?"  asked  Desboro, 
unoff  ended. 

"Stocks  or  literature.  All  the  ginks  who  can't  do 
anything  else  go  into  stocks  or  literature." 

Desboro  waved  away  the  alternatives  with  amiable 
urbanity. 

"Then  run  for  your  farms  and  grow  things  for  mar 
ket.  You  could  do  that,  couldn't  you?  Even  a  Dutch- 
ess  County  millionaire  can  run  a  milk-route." 

142 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"I  don't  desire  to  grow  milk,"  explained  Desboro 
pleasantly. 

Cairns  regarded  him  with  a  grin  of  anxiety. 

"You're  jingled,"  he  concluded.  "That  is,  you  are 
as  jingled  as  you  ever  get.  Why?" 

"No  reason,  thanks." 

"It  isn't  some  girl,  is  it?  You  never  take  them  seri 
ously.  All  the  same,  is  it?" 

Desboro  smiled:  "Do  you  think  it's  likely,  dear 
friend?" 

"No,  I  don't.  But  whatever  you're  worrying  about 
isn't  improving  your  personal  beauty.  Since  you  hit 
this  hamlet  you've  been  on  one  continuous  tootlebat. 
Why  don't  you  go  back  to  Westchester  and  hoe  po 
tatoes?" 

"One  doesn't  hoe  them  in  January,  you  know,"  said 
Desboro,  always  deprecatingly  polite.  "Please  cease 
to  trouble  yourself  about  me.  I'm  quite  all  right, 
thanks." 

"You've  resigned  from  a  lot  of  clubs  and  things,  I 
hear." 

"Admirably  reported,  dear  friend,  and  perfectly 
true." 

"Why?" 

"Motives  of  economy ;  nothing  more  serious, 
John." 

"You're  not  in  any  financial  trouble,  are  you?" 

"I — ah — possibly  have  been  a  trifle  indiscreet  in  my 
expenditures — a  little  unfortunate  in  my  investments, 
perhaps.  You  are  very  kind  to  ask  me.  It  may  afford 
you  some  gratification  to  learn  that  eventually  I  an 
ticipate  an  agreeable  return  to  affluence." 

Cairns  laughed:  "You  are  jingled  all  right,"  he 
143 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

said.  "I  recognise  the  urbane  symptoms  of  your  Des- 
boro  ancestors." 

"You  flatter  them  and  me,"  said  Desboro,  bowing. 
"They  were  the  limit,  and  I'm  nearing  it." 

"Pardon !  You  have  arrived,  sir,"  said  Cairns,  re 
turning  the  salute  with  exaggerated  gravity. 

They  parted  with  pomp  and  circumstance,  Desboro 
to  saunter  back  to  his  rooms  and  lie  limply  in  his  arm 
chair  beside  an  empty  fireplace  until  sleep  overcame 
him  where  he  sat.  And  he  looked  very  young,  and 
white,  and  somewhat  battered  as  he  lay  there  in  the 
fading  winter  daylight. 

The  ringing  racket  of  his  telephone  bell  aroused  him 
in  total  darkness.  Still  confused  by  sleep,  he  groped 
for  the  electric  light  switch,  could  not  find  it; 
but  presently  his  unsteady  hand  encountered  the 
telephone,  and  he  unhooked  the  receiver  and  set  it  to 
his  ear. 

At  first  his  imagination  lied  to  him,  and  he  thought 
it  was  Jacqueline's  distant  voice,  though  he  knew  in 
his  heart  it  could  not  be. 

"Jim,"  repeated  the  voice,  "what  are  you  doing  this 
evening?" 

"Nothing.     I  was  asleep.     It's  you,  Elena,  isn't  it?" 

"Of  course.  To  whom  are  you  in  the  habit  of  talk 
ing  every  evening  at  seven  by  special  request?" 

"I  didn't  know  it  was  seven." 

"That's  flattering  to  me.  Listen,  Jim,  I'm  coming 
to  see  you." 

"I've  told  you  a  thousand  times  it  can't  be  done " 

"Do  you  mean  that  no  woman  has  ever  been  in  your 
apartments  ?" 

"You  can't  come,"  he  repeated  obstinately.  "If  you 
144 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

do,  it  ends  my  interest  in  your  various  sorrows.  I  mean 
it,  Elena." 

She  laughed:  "I  only  wanted  to  be  sure  that  you 
are  still  afraid  of  caring  too  much  for  me.  Some 
body  told  me  a  very  horrid  thing  about  you.  It 
was  probably  a  lie — as  long  as  you  are  still  afraid  of 
me." 

He  closed  his  eyes  patiently  and  leaned  his  elbow  on 
the  desk,  waiting  for  her  to  go  on  or  to  ring  off. 

"Was  it  a  lie,  Jim?" 

"Was  what  a  lie?" 

"That  you  are  entertaining  a  very  pretty  girl  at 
Silverwood  House — unchaperoned?" 

"Do  you  think  it  likely?" 

"Why  not?     They  say  you've  done  it  before." 

"Nobody  has  been  there  except  on  business.  Ancl, 
after  all,  you  know,  it  doesn't " 

"Yes,  it  does  concern  me!  Oh,  Jim,  are  you  being 
horrid — when  I'm  so  unhappy  and  helpless " 

"Be  careful  what  you  say  over  the  wire!" 

"I  don't  care  who  hears  me.  If  you  mean  anybody 
in  your  apartment  house,  they  know  my  voice  already. 
I  want  to  see  you,  Jim " 

"No!" 

"You  said  you'd  be  friendly  to  me!" 

"I  am — by  keeping  away  from  you." 

"Do  you  mean  that  I  am  never  to  see  you  at  all?" 

"You  know  well  enough  that  it  isn't  best,  under  the 
circumstances." 

"You  could  come  here  if  you  only  would.  He  is  not 
in  town  to-night " 

"Confound  it,  do  you  think  I'm  that  sort?" 

"I  think  you  are  very  absurd  and  not  very  consistent, 
145 


THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

considering  the  things  that  they  say  you  are  not  too 
fastidious  to  do " 

"Will  you  please  be  a  little  more  reticent  over  the 
telephone !" 

"Then  take  me  out  to  dinner  somewhere,  where  we 
can  talk!" 

"I'm  sorry,  but  it  won't  do." 

"I  thought  you'd  say  that.  Very  well,  then,  listen: 
they  are  singing  Ariane  to-night;  it's  an  8:15  curtain. 
I'll  be  in  the  Barkley's  box  very  early ;  nobody  else  will 
arrive  before  nine.  Will  you  come  to  me  at  eight?" 

"Yes,  I'll  do  that  for  a  moment." 

"Thank  you,  dear.  I  just  want  to  be  happy  for  a 
few  minutes.  You  don't  mind,  do  you?" 

"It  will  be  very  jolly,"  he  said  vaguely. 

The  galleries  were  already  filling,  but  there  were  very 
few  people  in  the  orchestra  and  nobody  at  all  to  be 
seen  in  the  boxes  when  Desboro  paused  before  a  door 
marked  with  the  Barkleys'  name.  After  a  second's 
hesitation,  he  turned  the  knob,  stepped  in,  and  found 
Mrs.  Clydesdale  already  seated  in  the  tiny  foyer,  under 
the  hanging  shadow  of  her  ermine  coat — a  charming 
and  youthful  figure,  eyes  and  cheeks  bright  with  trepi 
dation  and  excitement. 

"What  the  dickens  do  you  suppose  prompted  Mrs. 
Hammerton  to  arrive  at  such  an  hour?"  she  said,  ex 
tending  her  hand  to  Desboro.  "That  very  wicked  old 
cat  got  out  of  somebody's  car  just  as  I  did,  and  I  could 
feel  her  beady  eyes  boring  into  my  back  all  the  way  up 
the  staircase." 

"Do  you  mean  Aunt  Hannah?" 

"Yes,  I  do !  What  does  she  mean  by  coming  here 
146 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

at  such  an  unearthly  hour?  Don't  go  out  into  the  box, 
Jim.  She  can  see  you  from  the  orchestra.  I'll  wager 
that  her  opera  glasses  have  been  sweeping  the  house 
every  second  since  she  saw  me!" 

"If  she  sees  me  she  won't  talk,"  he  said,  coolly.  "I'm 
one  of  her  exempts " 

"Wait,  Jim !    What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"Let  her  see  us  both.  I  tell  you  she  never_  talks 
about  me,  or  anybody  with  whom  I  happen  to  be.  It's 
the  best  way  to  avoid  gossip,  Elena " 

"I  don't  want  to  risk  it,  Jim !  Please  don't !  I'm  in 
abject  terror  of  that  woman " 

But  Desboro  had  already  stepped  out  to  the  box, 
and  his  keen,  amused  eyes  very  soon  discovered  the  lev 
elled  glasses  of  Mrs.  Hammerton. 

"Come  here,  Elena !" 

"Had  I  better?" 

"Certainly.  I  want  her  to  see  you.  That's  it !  That's 
enough.  She  won't  say  a  word  about  you  now." 

Mrs.  Clydesdale  shrank  back  into  the  dim,  rosy  half- 
light  of  the  box;  Desboro  looked  down  at  Mrs.  Ham 
merton  and  smiled;  then  rejoined  his  flushed  com 
panion. 

"Don't  worry;  Aunt  Hannah's  fangs  are  extracted 
for  this  evening.  Elena,  you  are  looking  pretty  enough 
to  endanger  the  record  of  an  aged  saint!  There  goes 
that  meaningless  overture !  What  is  it  you  have  to  say 
to  me?" 

"Why  are  you  so  brusque  with  me,  Jim?" 

"I'm  not.  But  I  don't  want  the  Barkleys  and  their 
guests  to  find  us  here  together." 

"Betty  knows  I  care  for  you " 

"Oh,  Lord!"  he  said  impatiently.  "You  always  did 
147 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

care  for  anything  that  is  just  out  of  reach  when  you 
stand  on  tiptoe.  You  always  were  that  way,  Elena. 
When  we  were  free  to  see  each  other  you  would  have 
none  of  me." 

She  was  looking  down  while  he  spoke,  smoothing  one 
silken  knee  with  her  white-gloved  hand.  After  a  mo 
ment,  she  lifted  her  head.  To  his  surprise,  her  eyes 
were  brilliant  with  unshed  tears. 

"You  don't  love  me  any  more,  do  you,  Jim?" 

"I — I  have — it  is  about  as  it  always  will  be  with  me. 
Circumstances  have  altered  things." 

"Is  thfet  all?" 

He  thought  for  a  moment,  and  his  eyes  grew 
sombre. 

"Jim !  Are  you  going  to  marry  somebody  ?"  she  said 
suddenly. 

He  looked  up  with  a  startled  laugh,  not  entirely 
agreeable. 

"Marry?      No." 

"Is  there  any  girl  you  want  to  marry?" 

"No.     God  forbid!" 

"Why  do  you  say  that?  Is  it  because  of  what  you 
know  about  marriages — like  mine?" 

"Probably.     And  then  some." 

"There  are  happy  ones." 

"Yes,  I've  read  about  them." 

"But  there  really  are,  Jim." 

"Mention  one." 

She  mentioned  several  among  people  both  knew.  He 
smiled.  Then  she  said,  wearily : 

"There  are  plenty  of  decent  people  and  decent  mar 
riages  in  the  world.  The  people  we  play  with  are  no 
good.  It's  only  restlessness,  idleness,  and  discontent 

148 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

that  kills  everything  among  people  of  our  sort.  I  know 
I'm  that  way,  too.  But  I  don't  believe  I  would  be  if  I 
had  married  you." 

"You  are  mistaken." 

"Why?  Don't  you  believe  any  marriage  can  be 
happy  ?" 

"Elena,  have  you  ever  heard  of  a  honeymoon  that 
lasts?  Do  you  know  how  long  any  two  people  can  en 
dure  each  other  without  merciful  assistance  from  a 
third?  Don't  you  know  that,  sooner  or  later,  any  two 
people  ever  bom  are  certain  to  talk  each  other  out — 
pump  each  other  dry — love  each  other  to  satiation — 
and  ultimately  recoil,  each  into  the  mysterious  seclusion 
of  its  own  individuality,  from  whence  it  emerged  tem 
porarily  in  order  that  the  human  race  might  not  per- 
ish  from  the  earth !" 

"What  miserable  lesson  have  you  learned  to  teach 
you  such  a  creed?"  she  asked.  "I  tell  you  the  world 
is  full  of  happy  marriages — full  of  honoured  husbands 
and  beloved  wives,  and  children  worshipped  and 
adored " 

"Children,  yes,  they  come  the  nearest  to  making  the 
conventional  contract  endurable.  I  wish  to  God  you 
had  some !" 

"Jim!" 

He  said,  almost  savagely:  "If  you  can,  and  don't, 
you'll  make  a  hell  for  yourself  with  any  man,  sooner 
or  later — mark  my  words !  And  it  isn't  worth  while 
to  enact  the  hypocrisy  of  marriage  with  nothing  more 
than  legal  license  in  view!  Why  bother  with  priest  or 
clergyman?  That  contract  won't  last.  And  it's  less 
trouble  not  to  make  one  at  all  than  to  go  West  and 
break  one." 

149 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Do  you  know  you  are  talking  very  horridly  to  me?" 
she  said. 

"Yes — I  suppose  I  am.  I've  got  to  be  going  now, 
anyway " 

As  he  spoke,  the  glittering  house  became  dark ;  the 
curtain  opened  upon  a  dim  scene  of  shadowy  splendour, 
into  which,  exquisite  and  bewitchingly  immortal  as  any 
goddess  in  the  heavenly  galaxy,  glided  Farrar,  in  the 
shimmering  panoply  of  Ariane. 

Desboro  stood  staring  down  at  the  magic  picture. 
Mrs.  Clydesdale,  too,  had  risen.  Below  them  the  beauty 
of  Farrar's  matchless  voice  possessed  the  vast  obscur 
ity,  searching  the  darkness  like  a  ray  of  crystal  light. 
One  by  one  the  stone  crypts  opened,  disclosing  their 
tinted  waterfalls  of  jewels. 

"I've  got  to  go,"  he  whispered.  "Your  people  will 
be  arriving." 

They  moved  silently  to  the  door. 

"Jim?" 

"Yes." 

"There  is  no  other  woman;  is  there?" 

"Not  now." 

"Oh!     Was  there?" 

"There  might  have  been." 

"You  mean — to — to  marry?" 

"No." 

"Then — I  suppose  I  can't  help  that  sort.  Men  are 
• — that  way.  Was  it  that  girl  at  Silverwood?" 

"No,"  he  said,  lying. 

"Oh!     Who  was  that  girl  at  Silverwood?" 

"A  business   acquaintance." 

"I  hear  she  is  unusually  pretty." 

"Yes,  very." 

150 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 


"You  found  it  necessary  to  be  at  Silverwood  when 
she  was  there?" 
"Once  or  twice." 


"Desboro  stood  staring  down  at  the  magic  picture. 
Mrs.  Clydesdale,  too,  had  risen" 

"It  is  no  longer  necessary?" 
"No  longer  necessary." 
"So  you  won't  see  her  again?" 
"No." 

151 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"I'm  glad.  It  hurt,  Jim.  Some  people  I  know  at 
Willow  Lake  saw  her.  They  said  she  was  unusually 
beautiful." 

"Elena,"  he  said,  "will  you  kindly  come  to  your 
senses?  I'm  not  going  to  marry  anybody;  but  that 
doesn't  concern  you.  I  advise  you  to  attend  to  your 
own  life's  business — which  is  to  have  children  and  bring 
them  up  more  decently  than  the  present  generation  are 
being  brought  up  in  this  fool  of  a  town!  If  nothing 
else  will  make  your  husband  endurable,  children  will 
come  nearest  to  it " 

"Jim — please " 

"For  heaven's  sake,  don't  cry!"  he  whispered. 

"I — won't.  Dear,  don't  you  realise  that  you  are  all 
I  have  in  the  world " 

"We  haven't  got  each  other,  I  tell  you,  and  we're 
not  going  to  have  each  other " 

"Yes — but  don't  take  anybody  else — marry  any 
one " 

"I  won't.     Control  yourself !" 

"Promise  me!" 

"Yes,  I  do.  Go  forward  into  the  box;  those  people 
will  be  arriving : 

"Do  you  promise?" 

"Yes,  if  you  want  me  to.  Go  forward;  nobody  can 
see  you  in  the  dark.  Good-bye " 

"Good-bye,  dear.     And  thank  you — 

He  coolly  ignored  the  upturned  face ;  she  caught  his 
hand  in  a  flash  of  impatient  passion,  then,  with  a  whis 
pered  word,  turned  and  went  forward,  mistress  of  her 
self  again,  to  sit  there  for  an  hour  or  two  and  witness 
a  mystery  that  has  haunted  the  human  heart  for  aeons, 
unexpressed. 

152 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

On  the  fifth  day,  Desboro  remained  indoors  and 
wrote  business  letters  until  late  in  the  afternoon. 

Toward  evening  he  telephoned  to  Mrs.  Quant  to  find 
out  whether  everything  was  being  done  to  render  Miss 
Nevers's  daily  sojourn  at  Silverwood  House  agree 
able. 

He  learned  that  everything  was  being  done,  that  the 
young  lady  in  question  had  just  departed  for  New 
York,  and,  furthermore,  that  she  had  inquired  of  Mrs. 
Quant  whether  Mr.  Desboro  was  not  coming  soon  to 
Silverwood,  desiring  to  be  informed  because  she  had  one 
or  two  business  matters  on  which  to  consult  him. 

"Hold  the  wire,"  he  said,  and  left  it  for  a  few  mo 
ments'  swift  pacing  to  and  fro.  Then  he  came  again 
to  the  telephone. 

"Ask  Miss  Nevers  to  be  kind  enough  to  write  me 
about  the  matters  she  has  in  mind,  because  I  can  not 
leave  town  at  present." 

"Yes,  Mr.  James.     Are  you  well,  sir?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Thank  you,  sir.  If  you  feel  chilly  like  at 
night " 

"But  I  don't.     Good-night !" 

He  dressed,  dined  at  the  club,  and  remained  there 
reading  the  papers  until  he  had  enough  of  their  com 
placent  ignorance.  Then  he  went  home,  still  doggedly 
refusing  to  attempt  to  analyse  the  indirect  message 
from  Jacqueline. 

If  it  had  any  significance  other  than  its  apparent 
purport,  he  grimly  refused  to  consider  even  such  a  pos 
sibility.  And,  deadly  weary  at  last,  he  fell  asleep  and 
slept  until  late  in  the  morning. 

It  was  snowing  hard  when  he  awoke.  His  ablutions 
153 


THE  BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

ended,  he  rang  for  breakfast.  On  his  tray  was  a  note 
from  the  girl  in  blue ;  he  read  it  and  dropped  it  into  his 
pocket,  remembering  the  fireplace  sacrifice  of  a  few 
days  ago  at  Silverwood,  and  realising  that  such  friv 
olous  souvenirs  were  beginning  to  accumulate  again. 

He  breakfasted  without  interest,  unfolded  the  morn 
ing  paper,  glanced  over  the  headlines,  and  saw  that 
there  was  a  little  more  murder,  divorce,  and  boot-licking 
than  he  cared  for,  laid  it  aside,  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 
As  he  dropped  the  burnt  match  on  the  tray,  he  noticed 
under  it  another  letter  which  he  had  overlooked  among 
the  bills  and  advertisements  composing  the  bulk  of  the 
morning  mail. 

For  a  little  while  he  held  the  envelope  in  his  hand,  not 
looking  at  it ;  then,  with  careless  deliberation,  he  cut  it 
open,  using  a  paper  knife,  and  drew  out  the  letter.  As 
he  slowly  opened  it  his  hands  shook  in  spite  of  him. 

"MY  DEAR  MR.  DESBORO  :  I  telephoned  Mrs.  Quant 
last  night  and  learned  that  she  had  given  you  my  mes 
sage  over  the  wire  only  a  few  minutes  before; 
and  that  you  had  sent  word  you  could  not  come  to 
Silverwood,  but  that  I  might  communicate  with  you 
by  letter. 

"This  is  what  I  had  to  say  to  you:  There  is  a  suit 
of  armour  here  which  is  in  a  very  bad  condition.  It 
will  be  expensive  to  have  it  repaired  by  a  good  ar 
mourer.  Did  you  wish  to  include  it  in  the  sale  as  it  is, 
or  have  it  repaired?  It  is  No.  41  in  the  old  list;  No.  69 
in  my  catalogue,  now  almost  completed  and  ready  for 
the  printer.  It  is  that  rather  unusual  suit  of  black 
plate-mail,  called  'Brigandine  Armour,'  a  XV  century 
suit  from  Aragon ;  and  the  quilted  under-j  acket  has 

154 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

been  ruined  by  moths  and  has  gone  completely  to  pieces. 
It  is  a  very  valuable  suit. 

"Would  you  tell  me  what  to  do? 

"Very  sincerely  yours, 

"JACQUELINE   NEVERS." 

An  hour  later  he  still  sat  there  with  the  letter  in  his 
hand,  gazing  at  nothing.  And  until  the  telephone  be 
side  him  rang  twice  he  had  not  stirred. 

"Who  is  it?"  he  asked  finally. 

At  the  reply  his  face  altered  subtly,  and  he  bowed 
his  head  to  listen. 

The  distant  voice  spoke  again,  and: 

"Silverwood?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  here's  your  party." 

An  interval  filled  writh  a  vague  whirring,  then: 

"Mr.  Desboro?" 

"Yes.     Good-morning,  Miss  Nevers." 

"Good-morning.     Have  you  a  note  from  me?" 

"Yes,  thank  you.  It  came  this  morning.  I  was 
just  reading  it — again." 

"I  thought  I  ought  to  consult  you  in  such  a  mat 
ter." 

"Certainly." 

"Then — what  are  your  wishes?" 

"My  wishes  are  yours." 

"I  cannot  decide  such  a  matter.  It  will  be  very  ex 
pensive " 

"If  it  is  worth  the  cost  to  you,  it  is  worth  it  to  me." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  The  burden  of  de 
cision  lies  with  you  this  time,  doesn't  it?" 

"With  us  both.     Unless  you  wish  me  to  assume  it." 

"But  it  is  yours  to  assume!" 
155 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"If  you  wish,  then.  But  I  may  ask  your  opinion, 
may  I  not?" 

There  was  a  silence,  then: 

"Whatever  you  do  I  approve.     I  have  no — opinion." 

"You  do  not  approve  all  I  do." 

The  rejoinder  came  faintly:     "How  do  you  know?" 

"I — wrote  to  you.  Do  you  approve  my  writing  to 
you?" 

"Yes.     If  you  do." 

"And  do  you  approve  of  what  I  wrote?" 

"Not  of  all  that  you  wrote." 

"I  wrote  that  I  would  not  see  you  again." 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  think  that  is  best?" 

"I — do  not  think  about  it." 

He  said:  "That,  also,  is  best.  Don't  think  of  it  at 
all.  And  about  the  armour,  do  exactly  what  you  would 
do  if  you  were  in  my  place.  Good-bye." 

"Mr.  Desboro -" 

"Yes." 

"Could  you  wait  a  moment?  I  am  trying  to 
think " 

"Don't  try,  Jacqueline!" 

"Please  wait — for  me !" 

There  was  a  silence;  a  tiny  spot  of  blood  reddened 
his  bitten  lip  before  she  spoke  again ;  then : 

"I  wished  to  tell  you  something.  I  knew  why  you 
wrote.  Is  it  right  for  me  to  tell  you  that  I  under 
stood  you?  I  wanted  to  write  and  say  so,  and — say 
something  else — about  how  I  felt — but  it  seems  I  can't. 
Only — we  could  be  friends  more  easily  now — if  you 
wish." 

"You  have  not  understood!"  he  said. 
156 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Yes,  I  have,  Mr.  Desboro.  But  we  can  be 
friends  ?" 

"Could  you  be  mine,  after  what  I  have  written?" 

"I  thought  I  couldn't,  at  first.  But  that  day  was  a 
— long  one.  And  when  a  girl  is  much  alone  she  be 
comes  very  honest  with  herself.  And  it  all  was  entirely 
new  to  me.  I  didn't  know  what  I  ought  to  have  done 
about  it — only  what  I  wished  to  do." 

"And — what  is  that,  Jacqueline?" 

"Make  things  as  they  were — before — " 

"Before  I  wrote?" 

"Yes." 

"All  up  to  that  time  you  wish  might  be  again  as  it 
was?  Attt" 

No  answer. 

"All?"  he  repeated. 

"Don't  ask  me.  I  don't  know — I  don't  know  what 
I  think  any  more." 

"How  deeply  do  you  suppose  I  feel  about  it?" 

"I  did  not  know  you  felt  anything  very  deeply." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  then  her  voice  again : 

"You  know — you  need  not  be  afraid.  I  did  not 
know  enough  to  be  until  you  wrote.  But  I  understand, 
now." 

He  said :  "It  will  be  all  right,  then.  It  will  be  quite 
all  right,  Jacqueline.  I'll  come  up  on  the  noon  train." 

His  car  met  him  at  the  station.  The  snow  had  melted 
and  the  wet  macadam  road  glittered  under  a  declining 
winter  sun,  as  the  car  rolled  smoothly  away  through 
the  still  valleys  of  Westchester. 

Mrs.  Quant,  in  best  bib  and  tucker  and  lilac  ribbons, 
welcomed  him,  and  almost  wept  at  his  pallor;  but  he 

157 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

shrugged  impatiently  and  sprang  up  the  low  steps. 
Here  the  necessity  for  self-control  stopped  him  short 
on  his  way  to  the  armoury.  He  turned  to  Mrs.  Quant 
with  an  effort: 

"Is  everything  all  right?" 

"No,  Mr.  James.  Phibby  broke  a  cup  and  saucer 
Saturday,  and  there  is  new  kittens  in  the  laundry — 
which  makes  nine  cats " 

"Oh,  all  right!     Miss  Nevers  is  here?" 

"Yes,  sir — in  the  liberry — which  ain't  been  dusted 
right  by  that  Phibby  minx " 

"Tell  Phoebe  to  dust  it!"  he  said  sternly.  "Do  you 
suppose  Miss  Nevers  cares  to  handle  dirty  books !"  His 
restless  glance  fell  on  the  clock :  "Tell  Farris  I'm  here 
and  that  Miss  Nevers  and  I  will  lunch  as  soon  as  it's 
served.  And  say  to  Miss  Nevers  that  I'll  be  down  in 
a  few  minutes."  He  turned  and  mounted  the  stairs  to 
his  room,  and  found  it  full  of  white,  clove-scented  car 
nations. 

Mrs.  Quant  came  panting  after  him: 

"Miss  Nevers,  she  cut  them  in  the  greenhouse,  and 
told  me  to  put  'em  in  your  room,  sayin'  as  how  clove 
pinks  is  sanitary.  Would  you — would  you  try  a  few 
m-m-magic  drops,  Mr.  James,  sir?  Miss  Nevers  takes 
'em  regular." 

"Oh,  Lord!"  he  exclaimed,  laughing  in  sheer  exuber 
ance  of  spirits.  "I'll  swallow  anything  you  like,  only 
hurry !" 

She  dosed  him  with  great  content,  he,  both  hands  in 
soap-suds,  turning  his  head  to  receive  the  potion.  And 
at  last,  ablutions  finished,  he  ran  down  the  stairs, 
checked  himself,  and  managed  to  stroll  leisurely  through 
the  hall  and  into  the  library. 

158 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 


She  was  writing;  looked  up,  suddenly  pale  under  her 
golden  crown  of  hair;  and  the  red  lips  quivered,  but 
her  eyes  were  steady. 

She  bent  her  head  again,  both  hands  abandoned  to 
him,  sitting  in  silence  while  his  lips  rested  against  her 
fingers. 

"Is  all  well  with  you,  Jacqueline?" 

"Yes.     And  with  you?" 

"All  is  well  with  me.  I  missed  you — if  you  know 
what  that  really  means." 

"Did  you?" 

"Yes.     Won't  you  even  look  at  me?" 

"In  a  moment.  Do  you  see  all  these  piles  of  manu 
script?  All  that  is  your  new  catalogue — and  mine," 
she  added,  with  a  faint  smile;  but  her  head  remained 
averted. 


^  \ 

'"Which   is  the  real  pleasure?'   she  asked" 
"You  wonderful  girl!"  he  said  softly.     "You  won 
derful  girl!" 

159 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Thank  you.  It  was  a  labor  of — pleasure."  Colour 
stole  to  the  tips  of  her  ears.  "I  have  worked — worked 
— every  minute  since " 

"Yes." 

"Really,  I  have — every  minute.  But  somehow,  it 
didn't  seem  to  tire  me.  To-day — now — I  begin  to  feel 
a  little  tired."  She  rested  her  cheek  on  one  hand,  still 
looking  away  from  him. 

"I  took  a  peep  into  the  porcelain  and  jade  rooms," 
she  said,  "just  a  glance  over  what  lies  before  me. 
Mrs.  Quant  very  kindly  gave  me  the  keys.  Did  you 
mind?" 

"Do  I  mind  anything  that  it  pleases  you  to  do? 
What  did  you  find  in  the  jade  room?" 

She  smiled:  "Jadeite,  of  course;  and  lapis  and 
crystals — the  usual." 

"Any  good  ones?" 

"Some  are  miracles.  I  don't  really  know,  yet ;  I  gave 
just  one  swift  glance  and  fled — because  you  see  I 
haven't  finished  in  the  armoury,  and  I  ought  not  to 
permit  myself  the  pleasures  of  curiosity." 

"The  pleasures  of  curiosity  and  of  anticipation  are 
the  only  real  ones.  Sages  have  said  it." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Isn't  it  true?"  he  insisted. 

She  looked  up  at  him  at  last,  frank-eyed  but  flushed: 

"Which  is  the  real  pleasure,"  she  asked,  "seeing  each 
other,  or  anticipating  the — the  resumption  of  the 
entente  cordial?" 

"You've  smashed  the  sages  and  their  philosophy,"  he 
nodded,  studying  the  exquisite,  upturned  features  un- 
smilingly.  "To  be  with  you  is  the  greater — content. 
It's  been  a  long  time,  hasn't  it?" 

160 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

She  nodded  thoughtfully :     "Five  days  and  a  half." 

"You — counted  them,  too?" 

"Yes." 

This  wouldn't  do.  He  rose  and  walked  over  to  the 
fire,  which  needed  a  log  or  two;  she  turned  and  looked 
after  him  with  little  expression  in  her  face  except  that 
the  blue  of  her  eyes  had  deepened  to  a  lilac  tint,  and  the 
flush  on  her  cheeks  still  remained. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "I  didn't  mean  to  take  you 
from  any  business  in  New  York — or  pleasures " 

He  shuddered  slightly. 
'Did  I?"  she  asked.   * 

"No." 

"I  only  wished  you  to  come — when  you  had  time " 

"I  know,  Jacqueline.  Don't  show  me  your  soul  in 
every  word  you  utter." 

"What?" 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  came  back  to  her,  and  she 
shrank  a  little,  not  knowing  why ;  but  he  came  no  nearer 
than  her  desk. 

"The  thing  to  do,"  he  said,  speaking  with  forced  ani 
mation  and  at  random,  "is  for  us  both  to  keep  very 
busy.  I  think  I'll  go  into  farming — raise  some  dinky 
thing  or  other — that's  what  I'll  do.  I'll  go  in  for  the 
country  squire  business — that's  what  I'll  do.  And  I'll 
have  my  neighbours  in.  I'm  never  here  long  enough  to 
ask  'em.  They're  a  funny  lot ;  they're  all  right,  though 
— deadly  respectable.  I'll  give  a  few  parties — ask  some 
people  from  town,  too.  Betty  Barkley  could  run  the 
conventional  end  of  it.  And  you'd  come  floating  in 
with  other  unattached  girls " 

"You  want  me!" 

He    said,    astonished:        "Well,  why    on    earth    do 
163 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

you     suppose     I'm   taking    the     trouble     to     ask    the 
others?" 

"You  want    me — to  come — where  your  friends — 

"Don't  you  care  to?" 

"I — don't  know."  The  surprise  of  it  still  widened 
her  eyes  and  parted  her  lips  a  little.  She  looked  up  at 
him,  perplexed,  encountered  something  in  his  eyes 
which  made  her  cheeks  redden  again. 

"What  would  they  think?"  she  asked. 

"Is  there  anything  to  think?" 

"N-no.  But  they  don't  know  who  I  am.  And  I  have 
nobody  to  vouch  for  me." 

"You  ought  to  have  a  companion." 

"I  don't  want  any " 

"Of  course;  but  you  ought  to  have  one.  Can  you 
afford  one?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  what  they — they 
cost " 

"Let  me  fix  that  up,"  he  said,  with  animation.  "Let 
me  think  it  out.  I  know  a  lot  of  people — I  know  some 
indigent  and  respectable  old  terrors  who  ought  to  fill 
the  bill  and  hold  their  tongues  as  long  as  their  salary 
is  paid " 

"Oh,  please  don't,  Mr.  Desboro !" 

He  seated  himself  on  the   arm  of  her  chair: 

"Jacqueline,  dear,  it's  only  for  your  sake " 

"But  I  did  understand  your  letter!" 

"I  know — I  know.  I  just  want  to  see  you  with  other 
people.  I  just  want  to  have  them  see  you " 

"But  I  don't  need  a  chaperon.  Business  women  are 
understood,  aren't  they?  Even  women  whom  you  know 
go  in  for  house  decoration,  and  cigarette  manufactur 
ing,  and  tea  rooms,  and  hats  and  gowns." 

1G4 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"But  they  were  socially  known  before  they  went  in 
for  these  things.  It's  the  way  of  the  world,  Jacqueline 
— nothing  but  suspicion  when  intelligence  and  beauty 
step  forward  from  the  ranks.  And  what  do  you  sup 
pose  would  happen  if  a  man  of  my  sort  attempts  to 
vouch  for  any  woman?" 

"Then  don't — please  don't  try !  I  don't  care  for  it 
— truly  I  don't.  It  was  nice  of  you  to  wish  it,  Mr. 
Desboro,  but — I'd  rather  be  just  what  I  am  and — your 
friend." 

"It  can't  be,"  he  said,  under  his  breath.  But  she 
heard  him,  looked  up  dismayed,  and  remained  mute, 
crimsoning  to  the  temples. 

"This  oughn't   to  go  on,"  he  said,  doggedly. 

She  said:  "You  have  not  understood  me.  I  am 
different  from  you.  You  are  not  to  blame  for  think 
ing  that  we  are  alike  at  heart;  but,  nevertheless,  it  is 
a  mistake.  I  can  be  what  I  will — not  what  I  once 
seemed  to  be — for  a  moment — with  you — "  Her  head 
sank  lower  and  remained  bowed;  and  he  saw  her  slen 
der  hands  tightening  on  the  arm  of  the  chair. 

"I — I've  got  to  be  honest,"  she  said  under  her 
breath.  "I've  got  to  be — in  every  way.  I  know  it 
perfectly  well,  Mr.  Desboro.  Men  seem  to  be  differ 
ent — I  don't  know  why.  But  they  seem  to  be,  usually. 
And  all  I  want  is  to  remain  friends  with  you — and  to 
remember  that  we  are  friends  when  I  am  at  work  some 
where.  I  just  want  to  be  what  I  am,  a  business  woman 
with  sufficient  character  and  intelligence  to  be  your 
friend  quietly — not  even  for  one  evening  in  competition 
with  women  belonging  to  a  different  life — women  with 
wit  and  beauty  and  charm  and  savoir  faire " 

"Jacqueline!"  he  broke  out  impulsively.  "I  want 
165 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

you  to  be  my  guest  here.  Won't  you  let  me  arrange 
with  some  old  gorrr-on  to  chaperon  you?  I  can  do  it! 
And  with  the  gorgon's  head  on  your  moral  shield  you 
can  silence  anybody!" 

He  began  to  laugh;  she  sat  twisting  her  fingers  on 
her  lap  and  looking  up  at  him  in  a  lovely,  distressed 
sort  of  way,  so  adorably  perplexed  and  yet  so  pliable, 
so  soft  and  so  apprehensive,  that  his  laughter  died  on 
his  lips,  and  he  sat  looking  down  at  her  in  silence. 

After  a  while  he  spoke  again,  almost  mechanically: 

"I'm  trying  to  think  how  we  can  best  be  on  equal 
terms,  Jacqueline.  That  is  all.  After  your  work  is 
done  here,  I  want  to  see  you  here  and  elsewhere — I 
want  you  to  come  back  at  intervals,  as  my  guest.  Other 
people  will  ask  you.  Other  people  must  be  here,  too, 
when  you  are.  I  know  some  who  will  accept  you  on 
your  merits — if  you  are  properly  chaperoned.  That  is 
all  I  am  thinking  about.  It's  fairer  to  you." 

But  even  to  himself  his  motive  was  not  clear — only 
the  rather  confused  idea  persisted  that  women  in  his 
own  world  knew  how  to  take  care  of  themselves,  what 
ever  they  chose  to  do  about  it — that  Jacqueline  would 
stand  a  fairer  chance  with  herself,  and  with  him,  what 
ever  his  intentions  might  really  be.  It  would  be  a 
squarer  deal,  that  was  all. 

She  sat  thinking,  one  slim  forefinger  crook'd  under 
her  chin;  and  he  saw  her  blue  eyes  deep  in  thought, 
and  the  errant  lock  curling  against  her  cheek.  Then 
she  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him : 

"Do  you  think  it  best?" 

"Yes — you  adorable  little  thing!" 

She  managed  to  sustain  his  gaze: 

"Could  you  find  a  lady  gorgon?" 
166 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"I'm  sure  I  can.     Shall  I?" 

"Yes." 

A  moment  later  Farris  announced  luncheon.  A 
swarm  of  cats  greeted  them  at  the  door,  purring  and 
waiving  multi-coloured  tails,  and  escorted  them  to  the 
table,  from  whence  they  knew  came  the  delectable 
things  calculated  to  satisfy  the  inner  cat. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  country-side  adjacent  to  Silverwood  was  em 
inently    and    self-consciously    respectable.     The 
fat,  substantial  estates  still  belonged  to  families 
whose  forefathers  had  first  taken  title  to  them.    There 
were,  of  course,  a  number  of  "colonial"  houses,  also  a 
"colonial"  inn,  The  Desboro  Arms,  built  to  look  as  gen 
uine  as   possible,  although  only  two   years  old,  steam 
heated,  and  electric  lighted. 

But  things  "colonial"  were  the  traditional  capital  of 
Silverwood,  and  its  thrifty  and  respectable  inhabitants 
meant  to  maintain  the  "atmosphere."  To  that  end  they 
had  solemnly  subscribed  a  very  small  sum  for  an  inn  sign 
to  swing  in  front  of  The  Desboro  Arms;  the  wheel 
wright  painted  it;  somebody  fired  a  shotgunful  of  an 
tiquity  into  it,  and  American  weather  was  rapidly  do 
ing  the  rest,  with  a  gratifying  result  which  no  degen 
erate  European  weather  could  have  accomplished  in 
half  a  century  of  rain  and  sunshine. 

The  majority  of  the  mansions  in  Silverwood  town 
ship  were  as  inoffensively  commonplace  as  the  Desboro 
house.  Few  pre-Revolutionary  structures  survived; 
the  British  had  burned  the  countryside  from  Major 
Lockwood's  mansion  at  Pound  Ridge  all  the  way  to 
Bedford  Village  and  across  to  the  Connecticut  line. 
With  few  exceptions,  Silverwood  houses  had  shared  the 
common  fate  when  Tarleton  and  DeLancy  galloped 
amuck  among  the  Westchester  hills ;  but  here  and  there 
some  sad  old  mansion  still  remained  and  was  reverently 

168 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

cherished,  as  was  also  the  graveyard,  straggling  up  the 
hill,  set  with  odd  old  headstones,  upon  which  most  re 
markable  cherubim  smirked  under  a  gladly  permitted 
accumulation  of  lichen. 

Age,  thrift,  substance,  respectability — these  were  the 
ideals  of  Silverwood ;  and  Desboro  and  his  doings  would 
never  have  been  tolerated  there  had  it  not  been  that  a 
forbear  of  his,  a  certain  dissolute  half-pay  captain, 
had  founded  the  community  in  1680.  This  sacred  co 
lonial  fact  had  been  Desboro's  social  salvation,  for 
which,  however,  he  did  not  seem  to  care  very  much. 
Good  women  continued  to  be  acidly  civil  to  him  on  this 
account,  and  also  because  Silverwood  House  and  its 
estates  could  no  more  be  dropped  from  the  revered 
galaxy  of  the  county  than  could  a  star  be  cast  out  of 
their  country's  flag  for  frivolous  behavior. 

So  worthy  men  endured  him,  and  irreproachable 
women  grieved  for  him,  although  it  was  rumoured  that 
he  gave  parties  now  and  then  which  real  actresses  had 
actually  attended.  Also,  though  he  always  maintained 
the  Desboro  pew  in  church,  he  never  decorated  it  with 
his  person.  Nor  could  the  countryside  count  on  him 
socially,  except  at  eccentric  intervals  when  his  careless, 
graceful  presence  made  the  Westchester  gaiety  seem 
rather  stiff  and  pallid,  and  gave  the  thin,  sour  claret 
an  unwonted  edge.  And  another  and  radical  incom 
patibility  ;  the  Desboros  were  the  only  family  of  Cava 
lier  descent  in  the  township.  And  deep  in  the  hearts 
of  Silverwood  folk  the  Desboros  had  ever  seemed  a  god 
less  race. 

Now,  there  had  been  already  some  gossip  among  the 
Westchester  hills  concerning  recent  doings  at  Silver- 
wood  House.  Even  when  it  became  known  that  the 

169 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

pretty  girl  who  sped  to  and  fro  in  Desboro's  limousine, 
between  house  and  station,  was  a  celebrated  art  expert, 
and  was  engaged  in  cataloguing  the  famous  Desboro 
collection,  God-fearing  people  asked  each  other  why 
Desboro  should  find  it  necessary  to  meet  her  at  the  sta 
tion  in  the  morning,  and  escort  her  back  in  the  even 
ing;  and  whether  it  were  actually  obligatory  for  him 
to  be  present  while  the  cataloguing  was  in  progress. 

Westchester  womanhood  was  beginning  to  look  wan 
and  worried;  substantial  gentlemen  gazed  inquiringly 
at  each  other  over  the  evening  chess-board;  several 
flippant  young  men  almost  winked  at  each  other.  But 
these  latter  had  been  accustomed  to  New  York,  and 
were  always  under  suspicion  in  their  own  families. 

Therefore,  it  was  with  relief  and  surprise  that  Silver- 
wood  began  to  observe  Desboro  in  furs,  driving  a  rakish 
runabout,  and  careering  about  Westchester  with  Vail, 
his  head  farmer,  seated  beside  him,  evidently  intent  on 
committing  future  agriculture — palpably  planning  for 
two  grass-blades  where  only  one,  or  a  mullein,  had 
hitherto  flourished  within  the  memory  of  living  man. 

Fertiliser  in  large  loads  was  driven  into  the  fallow 
fields  of  the  Desboros;  brush  and  hedges  and  fences 
were  being  put  in  order.  People  beheld  these  radical 
preliminaries  during  afternoon  drives  in  their  automo 
biles ;  local  tradesmen  reported  purchases  of  chemicals 
for  soil  enriching,  and  the  sale  of  all  sorts  of  farm 
utensils  to  Desboro's  agent. 

At  the  Country  Club  all  this  was  gravely  discussed; 
patriarchs  mentioned  it  over  their  checkers;  maidens 
at  bowls  or  squash  or  billiards  listened  to  the  exciting 
tale,  wide-eyed ;  hockey,  ski,  or  skating  parties  gossiped 
recklessly  about  it.  The  conclusion  was  that  Desboro 

170 


THE  BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

had  already  sowed  his  wilder  oats ;  and  the  worthy  com 
munity  stood  watching  for  the  prodigal's  return,  in 
tending  to  meet  him  while  yet  he  was  far  off. 

He  dropped  in  at  the  Country  Club  one  day,  causing 
a  little  less  flutter  than  a  hawk  in  a  hen-yard.  Within 
a  week  he  had  drifted  casually  into  the  drawing-rooms 
of  almost  all  his  father's  old  friends  for  a  cup  of  tea 
or  an  informal  chat — or  for  nothing  in  particular  ex 
cept  to  saunter  into  his  proper  place  among  them  with 
all  of  the  Desboro  grace  and  amiable  insouciance  which 
they  had  learned  to  tolerate  but  never  entirely  to  ap 
prove  or  understand. 

It  was  not  quite  so  casually  that  he  stopped  at  the 
Hammerton's.  And  he  was  given  tea  and  buns  by  Mrs. 
Hammerton,  perfectly  unsuspicious  of  his  motives. 
Her  husband  came  rambling  in  from  the  hothouses, 
presently,  where  he  spent  most  of  his  serious  life  in 
pinching  back  roses  and  chrysanthemums ;  and  he  ex 
tended  to  Desboro  a  large,  flat  and  placid  hand. 

"Aunt  Hannah  and  Daisy  are  out — somewhere — " 
he  explained  vaguely.  "You  must  have  passed  them  on 
the  way." 

"Yes,  I  saw  Daisy  in  the  distance,  exercising  an  old 
lady,"  said  Desboro  carelessly.  He  did  not  add  that 
the  sight  of  Aunt  Hannah  marching  across  the  West- 
chester  horizon  had  inspired  him  with  an  idea. 

From  her  lair  in  town,  she  had  come  hither,  for 
no  love  of  her  nephew  and  his  family,  nor  yet  for  West- 
chester,  but  solely  for  economy's  bitter  sake.  She 
made  such  pilgrimages  at  intervals  every  year,  upset 
ting  the  Hammerton  household  with  her  sarcasms, 
her  harsh,  high-keyed  laughter,  her  hardened  ways  of 
defining  the  word  "spade" — for  Aunt  Hannah  was  a 

171 


THE  BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

terror  that  Westchester  dreaded  but  never  dreamed  of 
ignoring,  she  being  a  wayward  daughter  of  the  sacred 
soil,  strangely  and  weirdly  warped  from  long  trans 
planting  among  the  gay  and  godless  of  Gotham  town. 
And  though  her  means,  after  her  husband's  scared 
soul  had  taken  flight,  were  painfully  attenuated,  the 
high  priests  and  captains  among  the  gay  and  godless 
feared  her,  and  she  bullied  them ;  and  she  and  they  con 
tinued  to  foregather  from  sheer  tradition,  but  with  mu 
tual  and  sincere  dislike.  For  Aunt  Hannah's  name 
would  always  figure  among  the  names  of  certain  metro 
politan  dowagers,  dragons,  gorgons,  and  holy  harri 
dans  ;  always  be  connected  with  certain  traditional  so 
cial  events  as  long  as  the  old  lady  lived.  And  she 
meant  to  survive  indefinitely,  if  she  had  anything  to 
say  about  it. 

She  came  in  presently  with  Daisy  Hammerton.  The 
latter  gave  her  hand  frankly  to  her  childhood's  com 
rade;  the  former  said: 

"Hah !  James  Desboro  !  "  very  disagreeably,  and 
started  to  nourish  herself  at  once  with  tea  and  muf 
fins. 

"James  Desboro,"  she  repeated  scornfully,  darting  a 
wicked  glance  at  him  where  he  stood  smiling  at  her, 
"James  Desboro,  turning  plow-boy  in  Westchester! 
What's  the  real  motive?  That's  what  interests  me.  I'm 
a  bad  old  woman — I  know  it!  All  over  paint  and 
powder,  and  with  too  small  a  foot  and  too  trim  a  figger 
to  be  anything  except  wicked.  Lindley  knows  it ;  it 
makes  his  fingers  tremble  when  he  pinches  crysanthe- 
mums;  Susan  knows  it;  so  does  Daisy.  And  I  admit 
it.  And  that's  why  I'm  suspicious  of  you,  James ;  I'm 
so  wicked  myself.  Come,  now;  why  play  the  honest 

172 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

yokel?      Eh?      You   good-looking   good-for-nothing!" 

"My  motive,"  he  said  amiably,  "is  to  make  a  living 
and  learn  what  it  feels  like." 

"Been  stock-gambling  again?" 

"Yes,  dear  lady." 

"Lose  much?"  she  sniffed. 

"Not  a  very  great  deal." 

"Hah !  And  now  you've  got  to  raise  the  wind,  some 
how?" 

He  repeated,  good-humouredly :  "I  want  to  make  a 
living." 

The  trim  little  old  lady  darted  another  glance  at 
him. 

"Ha — ha!"  she  laughed,  without  giving  any  reason 
for  the  disagreeable  burst  of  mirth;  and  started  in  on 
another  muffin. 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Hammerton,  vaguely,  "that 
James  will  make  an  excellent  agriculturist " 

"Excellent  fiddlesticks ! "  observed  Aunt  Hannah. 
"He'd  make  a  good  three-card  man." 

Daisy  Hammerton  said  aside  to  Desboro : 

"Isn't  she  a  terror!" 

"Oh,  she  likes  me !"  he  said,  amused. 

"I  know  she  does,  immensely.  She  makes  me  take 
her  for  an  hour's  walk  every  day — and  I'm  so  tired 
of  exercising  her  and  listening  to  her — unconventional 
stories — about  you." 

"She's  a  bad  old  thing,"  said  Desboro  affectionately, 
and,  in  his  natural  voice:  "  Aren't  you,  Aunt 
Hannah?  But  there  isn't  a  smarter  foot,  or  a 
prettier  hand,  or  a  trimmer  waist  in  all  Gotham,  is 
there?" 

"Philanderer !"  she  retorted,  in  a  high-pitched  voice. 
173 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"What  about  that  Van  Alstyne  supper  at  the  Santa 
Regina?" 

"Which  one?"  he  asked  coolly.  "Stuyve  is  always 
giving  'em." 

"Read  the  Tattler!"  said  the  old  lady,  seizing  more 
muffins. 

Mrs.  Hammerton  closed  her  tight  lips  and  glanced 
uneasily  at  her  daughter.  Daisy  sipped  her  tea  de 
murely.  She  had  read  all  about  it,  and  burned  the 
paper  in  her  bedroom  grate. 

Desboro  gracefully  ignored  the  subject;  the  old 
lady  laughed  shrilly  once  or  twice,  and  the  conversa 
tion  drifted  toward  the  more  decorous  themes  of  pinch 
ing  back  roses  and  mixing  plant-food,  and  preparing 
nourishment  for  various  precocious  horticultural  prod 
igies  now  developing  in  Lindley  Hammerton's  hot 
houses. 

Daisy  Hammerton,  a  dark  young  girl,  with  superb 
eyes  and  figure,  chatted  unconcernedly  with  Desboro, 
making  a  charming  winter  picture  in  her  scarlet  felt 
hat  and  jacket,  from  which  the  black  furs  had  fallen 
back.  She  went  in  for  things  violent  and  vigorous, 
and  no  nonsense;  rode  as  hard  as  she  could  in  such  a, 
country,  played  every  game  that  demanded  quick  eye 
and  flexible  muscle — and,  in  secret,  alas,  wrote  verses 
and  short  stories  unanimously  rejected  by  even  the 
stodgier  periodicals.  But  nobody  suspected  her  of  such 
weakness — not  even  her  own  mother. 

Desboro  swallowed  his  tea  and  took  leave  of  his  rose- 
pinching  host  and  hostess,  and  their  sole  and  lovely 
progeny,  also,  perhaps,  the  result  of  scientific  concen 
tration.  Aunt  Hannah  retained  his  hand: 

"Where  are  you  going  now,  James?" 
174 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Nowhere — home,"  he  said,  pretending  embarrass 
ment,  which  was  enough  to  interest  Aunt  Hannah  in 
the  trap. 

"Oh!  Nowhere — home!"  she  mimicked  him. 
"Where  is  'nowhere  home'?  Somewhere  out?  I've  a 
mind  to  go  with  you.  What  do  you  say  to  that,  young 
man?" 

"Come  along,"  he  said,  a  shade  too  promptly ;  and 
the  little,  bright,  mink-like  eyes  sparkled  with  malice. 
The  trap  was  sprung,  and  Aunt  Hannah  was  in  it.  But 
she  didn't  yet  suspect  it. 

"Slip  on  my  fur  coat  for  me,"  she  said.  "I'll  take 
a  spin  with  you  in  your  runabout." 

"You  overwhelm  me,"  he  protested,  holding  up  the 
fur  coat. 

"I  may  do  that  yet,  my  clever  friend !  Come  on ! 
No  shilly-shallying  !  Susan  !  Tell  your  maid  to  lay  out 
that  Paquin  gown  which  broke  my  financial  backbone 
last  month !  I'll  bring  James  back  to  dinner — or  know 
the  reason  why!" 

"I'll  tell  you  why  not,  now,"  said  Desboro.  "I'm 
going  to  town  early  this  evening." 

"Home,  nowhere,  and  then  to  town,"  commented  Aunt 
Hannah  loudly.  "A  multi-nefarious  destination. 
James,  if  you  run  into  the  Ewigkeit  by  way  of  a  wire 
fence  or  a  tree,  I'll  come  every  night  and  haunt  you! 
But  don't  poke  along  as  Lindley  pokes,  or  I'll  take  the 
wheel  myself." 

The  deaf  head-farmer,  Vail,  who  had  kept  the  en 
gine  going  for  fear  of  freezing,  left  the  wheel  and 
crawled  resignedly  into  the  tonneau. 

Aunt  Hannah  and  Desboro  stowed  themselves  aboard ; 
the  swift  car  went  off  like  a  firecracker,  then  sped  away 

175 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

into  the  darkness  at  such  a  pace  that  presently  Aunt 
Hannah  put  her  marmot-like  face  close  to  Desboro's  ear 
and  swore  at  him. 

"Didn't  you  want  speed?"  he  asked,  slowing  down. 

"Where  are  you  going,  James — home,  or  nowhere?" 

"Nowhere." 

"Well,  we  arrived  there  long  ago.  Now,  go  home — 
your  home." 

"Sure,  but  I've  got  to  catch  that  train — 

"Oh,   you'll   catch   it — or   something   else.      James?" 

"Madame?" 

"Some  day  I  want  to  take  a  look  at  that  young  wo 
man  who  is  cataloguing  your  collection." 

"That's  just  what  I  want  you  to  do  now,"  he  said 
cheerfully.  "I'm  taking  her  to  New  York  this  even 
ing." 

Aunt  Hannah,  astonished  and  out  of  countenance, 
remained  mute,  her  sharp  nose  buried  in  her  furs.  She 
had  been  trapped,  and  she  knew  it.  Then  her  eyes 
glittered : 

"You're  being  talked  about,"  she  said  with  satisfac 
tion.  "So  is  she !  Ha !" 

"Much?"  he  asked  coolly. 

"No.  The  good  folk  are  only  asking  each  other 
why  you  meet  her  at  the  station  writh  your  car.  They 
think  she  carries  antique  gems  in  her  satchel.  Later 
they'll  suspect  who  the  real  jewel  is.  Ha!" 

"I  like  her;  that's  why  I  meet  her,"  he  said 
coolly. 

"You  like  her?" 

"I  sure  do.     She  is  some  girl,  dear  lady." 

"Do  you  think  your  pretense  of  guileless  candour  is 
disarming  me,  young  man?" 

176 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  hope  of  disarming  you  or 
of  concealing  anything  from  you." 

"Follows,"  she  rejoined  ironically,  "that  there's  noth 
ing  to  conceal.  Bah!" 

"Quite  right;  there  is  nothing  to  conceal." 

"What  do  you  want  with  her,  then?" 

"Initially,  I  want  her  to  catalogue  my  collection; 
subsequently,  I  wish  to  remain  friends  with  her.  The 
latter  wish  is  becoming  a  problem.  I've  an  idea  that 
you  might  solve  it." 

"Friends  with  her,"  repeated  Aunt  Hannah.     "Oh, 


my! 


'And  angels  whisper 
Lo  !  the  pretty  pair  ! ' 


I  suppose!     Is   that  the  hymn-tune,  James?" 

"Precisely." 

"What  does  she  resemble — Venus,  or  Rosa  Bonheur?" 

"Look  at  her  and  make  up  your  mind." 

"Is  she  very  pretty?" 

"/  think'  so.    She's  thin." 

"Then  what  do  you   see  unusual  about  her?" 

"Everything,  I  think." 

"Everything — he  thinks  !     Oh,  my  sense  of  humour !  " 

"That,"  said  Desboro,  "is  partly  what  I  count  on." 

"Have  you  any  remote  and  asinine  notions  of  edu 
cating  her  and  marrying  her,  and  foisting  her  on  your 
friends?  There  are  a  few  fools  still  alive  on  earth, 
you  know." 

"So  I've  heard.  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea  of  mar 
rying  her;  she  is  better  fitted  to  educate  me  than  I  am 
her.  Not  guilty  on  these  two  counts.  But  I  had 

177 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

thought  of  foisting  some  of  my  friends  on  her.  You, 
for  example." 

Aunt  Hannah  glared  at  him — that  is,  her  tiny  eyes 
became  almost  luminous,  like  the  eyes  of  small  animals 
at  night,  surprised  by  a  sudden  light. 

"I  know  what  you're  meditating!"  she  snapped. 

"I  suppose  you  do,  by  this  time." 

"You're  very  impudent.     Do  you  know  it?" 

"Lord,  Aunt  Hannah,  so  are  you !"  he  drawled.  "But 
it  takes  genius  to  get  away  with  it." 

The  old  lady  was  highly  delighted,  but  she  con 
cealed  it  and  began  such  a  rapid-fire  tirade  against 
him  that  he  was  almost  afraid  it  might  bewilder  him 
enough  to  affect  his  steering. 

"Talk  to  me  of  disinterested  friendship  between  you 
and  a  girl  of  that  sort!"  she  ended.  "Not  that  I'd 
care,  if  I  found  material  in  her  to  amuse  me,  and  a 
monthly  insult  drawn  to  my  order  against  a  solvent 
bank  balance !  What  is  she,  James ;  a  pretty  blue 
stocking  whom  nobody  'understands'  except  you?" 

"Make  up  your  own  mind,"  he  repeated,  as  he 
brought  around  the  car  and  stopped  before  his  own 
doorstep.  "I'm  not  trying  to  tell  you  anything.  She 
is  here.  Look  at  her.  If  you  like  her,  be  her  friend — 
and  mine." 

Jacqueline  had  waited  tea  for  him;  the  table  was  in 
the  library,  kettle  simmering  over  the  silver  lamp; 
and  the  girl  was  standing  before  the  fire,  one 
foot  on  the  fender,  her  hands  loosely  linked  behind  her 
back. 

She  glanced  up  with  unfeigned  pleasure  as  his  step 
sounded  outside  along  the  stone  hallway ;  and  the  smile 
still  remained,  curving  her  lips,  but  died  out  in  her 

178 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

eyes,  as  Mrs.  Hammerton  marched  in,  halted,  and  stared 
at  her  unwinkingly. 

Desboro  presented  them;  Jacqueline  came  forward, 
offering  a  shy  hand  to  Aunt  Hannah,  and,  bending  her 
superb  young  head,  looked  down  into  the  beady  eyes 
which  were  now  fairly  electric  with  intelligence. 

Desboro  began,  easily: 

"I  asked  Mrs.  Hammerton  to  have  tea  with " 

"I  asked  myself,"  remarked  Aunt  Hannah,  laying 
her  other  hand  over  Jacqueline's — she  did  not  know  just 
why — perhaps  because  she  was  vain  of  her  hands,  as 
well  as  of  her  feet  and  "figger." 

She  seated  herself  on  the  sofa  and  drew  Jacqueline 
down  beside  her. 

"This  young  man  tells  me  that  you  are  cataloguing 
his  grandfather's  accumulation  of  ancient  tin-ware." 

"Yes,"  said  Jacqueline,  already  afraid  of  her.  And 
the  old  lady  divined  it,  too,  with  not  quite  as  much 
pleasure  as  it  usually  gave  her  to  inspire  trepidation 
in  others. 

Her  shrill  voice  was  a  little  modified  when  she  said: 

"Where  did  you  learn  to  do  such  things?  It's  not 
usual,  you  know." 

"You  have  heard  of  Jean  Louis  Never s,"  suggested 
Desboro. 

"Yes — "  Mrs.  Hammerton  turned  and  looked  at  the 
girl  again.  "Oh!"  she  said.  "I've  heard  Cary  Clydes 
dale  speak  of  you,  haven't  I?" 

Jacqueline  made  a  slight,  very  slight,  but  instinctive 
movement  away  from  the  old  lady,  on  whom  nothing 
that  happened  was  lost. 

"Mr.  Clydesdale,"  said  Mrs.  Hammerton,  "told  sev 
eral  people  where  I  was  present  that  you  knew  more 

179 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

about  antiquities  in  art  than  anybody  else  in  New  York 
since  your  father  died.  That's  what  he  said  about 
you." 

Jacqueline  said :  "Mr.  Clydesdale  has  been  very  kind 
to  me." 

"Kindness  to  people  is  also  a  Clydesdale  tradition — 
isn't  it,  James?"  said  the  old  lady.  "How  kind  Elena 
has  always  been  to  you !" 

The  covert  impudence  of  Aunt  Hannah,  and  her  in 
nocent  countenance,  had  no  significance  for  Jacqueline 
— would  have  had  no  meaning  at  all  except  for  the 
dark  flush  of  anger  that  mounted  so  suddenly  to  Des- 
boro's  forehead. 

He  said  steadily:  "The  Clydesdales  are  very  old 
friends,  and  are  naturally  kind.  Why  you  don't  h'ke 
them  I  never  understood." 

"Perhaps  you  can  understand  why  one  of  them 
doesn't  like  me,  James." 

"Oh!  I  can  understand  why  many  people  are  not 
crazy  about  you,  Aunt  Hannah,"  he  said,  composedly. 

"Which  is  going  some,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  a 
brisk  and  unabashed  employment  of  the  vernacular. 
Then,  turning  to  Jacqueline :  "Are  you  going  to  give 
this  young  man  some  tea,  my  child?  He  requires  a 
tonic." 

Jacqueline  rose  and  seated  herself  at  the  table,  thank 
ful  to  escape.  Tea  was  soon  ready;  Aunt  Hannah, 
whose  capacity  for  browsing  was  infinite,  began  on  jam 
and  biscuits  without  apology.  And  Jacqueline  and  Des- 
boro  exchanged  their  first  furtive  glances — dismayed 
and  questioning  on  the  girl's  part,  smilingly  reassuring 
on  Desboro's.  Aunt  Hannah,  looking  intently  into 
her  teacup,  missed  nothing. 

180 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Come  to  see  me!"  she  said  so  abruptly  that  even 
Desboro  started. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Jacqueline,  not  under 
standing. 

"Come  to  see  me  in  town.  I've  a  rotten  little  place 
in  a  fashionable  apartment  house — one  of  the  Park 
Avenue  kind,  which  they  number  instead  of  calling  it 
the  'Buena  Vista'  or  the  'Hiawatha.'  Will  you  come?" 

"Thank  you." 

The  old  lady  looked  at  her  grimly: 

"What  does  'thank  you'  mean?  Yes  or  no?  Be 
cause  I  really  want  you.  Don't  you  wish  to  come?" 

"I  would  be  very  glad  to  come — only,  you  know,  I 
am  in  business — and  go  out  very  little " 

"Except  on  business,"  added  Desboro,  looking  Aunt 
Hannah  unblushingly  in  the  eye  until  she  wanted  to 
pinch  him.  Instead,  she  seized  another  biscuit,  which 
Farris  presented  on  a  tray,  smoking  hot,  and  applied 
jam  to  it  vigorously.  After  she  had  consumed  it,  she 
rose  and  marched  around  the  room,  passing  the  por 
traits  and  book  shelves  in  review.  Half  turning  toward 
Jacqueline : 

"I  haven't  been  in  the  musty  old  mansion  for  years ; 
that  young  man  never  asks  me.  But  I  used  to  know 
the  house.  It  was  this  sort  of  house  that  drove  me  out 
of  Westchester,  and  I  vowed  I'd  marry  a  New  York 
man  or  nobody.  Do  you  know,  child,  that  there  is  a 
sort  of  simpering  smugness  about  a  house  like  this  that 
makes  me  inclined  to  kick  dents  in  the  furniture?" 

Jacqueline  ventured  to  smile;  Desboro's  smile  re 
sponded  in  sympathy. 

"I'm  going  home,"  announced  Aunt  Hannah.  "Good 
bye,  Miss  Nevers.  I  don't  want  you  to  drive  me,  James ; 

183 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

I'd   rather    have    your   man    take   me   back.      Besides, 

you've  a  train  to  catch,  I  understand "  She  turned 

and  looked  at  Jacqueline,  who  had  risen,  and  they 
stood  silently  inspecting  each  other.  Then,  with  a 
grim  nod,  as  though  partly  of  comprehension,  partly 
in  adieu,  Aunt  Hannah  sailed  out.  Desboro  tucked 
her  in  beside  Vail.  The  latter  being  quite  deaf,  they 
talked  freely  under  his  very  nose. 

"James !" 

"Yes,  dear  lady." 

"You  gave  yourself  away  about  Elena  Clydesdale. 
Haven't  you  any  control  over  your  countenance?" 

"Sometimes.  But  don't  do  that  again  before  her! 
The  story  is  a  lie,  anyway." 

"So  I've  heard — from  you.  Tell  me,  James,  do  you 
think  this  little  Nevers  girl  dislikes  me?" 

"Do  you  want  her  to?" 

"No.  You're  a  very  clever  young  one,  aren't  you? 
Really  quite  an  expert!  Do  you  know,  I  don't  think 
that  girl  would  care  for  what  I  might  have  to  offer 
her.  There's  more  to  her  than  to  most  people." 

"How  do  you  know?     She  scarcely  spoke  a  word." 

The  old  lady  laughed  scornfully: 

"I  know  people  by  what  they  don't  say.  That's 
why  I  know  you  so  much  better  than  you  think  I  do — 
you  and  Elena  Clydesdale.  And  7  don't  think  you're 
much  good,  James — or  some  of  your  married  friends, 
either." 

She  settled  down  among  the  robes,  with  a  bright,  im 
pertinent  glance  at  him.  He  shrugged,  standing  bare 
headed  by  the  mud-guard,  a  lithe,  handsome  young 
fellow.  " — A  Desboro  all  over,"  she  thought,  with  a 
mental  sniff  of  admiration. 

184 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Are  you  going  to  speak  to  Miss  Nevers  ?"  she  asked, 
abruptly. 

"About  what !" 

"About  employing  me,  you  idiot!" 

"Yes,  if  you  like.  If  she  comes  up  here  as  my 
guest,  she'll  need  a  gorgon." 

"I'll  gorgon  you,"  she  retorted,  wrathfully. 

"Thanks.      So  you'll  accept  the— er— job?" 

"Of  course,  if  she  wishes.  I  need  the  money.  It's 
purely  mercenary  on  my  part." 

"That's  understood." 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  her  I'm  mercenary?" 

"Naturally." 

"Well,  then — don't — if  you  don't  mind.  Do  you 
think  I  want  every  living  creature  to  detest  me?" 

"/  don't  detest  you.  And  you  have  an  unterrified 
tabby-cat  at  home,  haven't  you?" 

She  could  have  boxed  his  ears  as  he  leaned  over  and 
deliberately  kissed  her  cheek. 

"I  love  you  because  you're  so  bad,"  he  whispered; 
and,  stepping  lightly  aside,  nodded  to  Vail  to  go  ahead. 

The  limousine,  acetylenes  shining,  rolled  up  as  the 
other  car  departed.  He  went  back  to  the  library  and 
found  Jacqueline  pinning  on  her  hat. 

"Well?"   he   inquired  gaily. 

"Why  did  you  bring  her,  Mr.  Desboro?" 

"Didn't  you  like  her?" 

"Who  is  she?" 

"A  Mrs.  Hannah  Hammerton.  She  knows  every 
body.  Most  people  are  afraid  of  her.  She's  poor  as 
a  guinea-pig." 

"She  was  beautifully  gowned." 

"She  always  is.     Poor  Aunt  Hannah!" 
185 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Is  she  your  aunt?" 

"No,  she's  Lindley  Hammerton's  aunt — a  neighbour 
of  mine.  I  call  her  that;  it  made  her  very  mad  in  the 
beginning,  but  she  rather  likes  it  now.  You'll  go  to 
call  on  her,  won't  you?" 

Jacqueline  turned  to  him,  drawing  on  her  gloves: 

"Mr.  Desboro,  I  don't  wish  to  be  rude;  and,  any 
way,  she  will  forget  that  she  asked  me  in  another  half- 
hour.  Why  should  I  go  to  see  her?" 

"Because  she's  one  species  of  gorgon.  Now,  do  you 
understand?" 

"What !" 

"Of  course.  It  isn't  a  case  of  pin-money  with  her; 
it's  a  case  of  clothing,  rent,  and  nourishment.  A  mi 
croscopic  income,  supplemented  by  gifts,  commissions, 
and  odd  social  jobs,  keeps  her  going.  What  you  and 
I  want  of  her  is  for  her  to  be  seen  at  various  times 
with  you.  She'll  do  the  rest  in  talking  about  you — 
'my  unusually  talented  young  friend,  Miss  Nevers,'  and 
that  sort  of  thing.  It  will  deceive  nobody;  but  you'll 
eventually  meet  some  people — she  knows  all  kinds.  The 
main  point  is  that  when  I  ask  you  here  she'll  bring 
you.  People  will  understand  that  you  are  another 
of  her  social  enterprises,  for  which  she's  paid.  But 
it  won't  count  against  you.  It  will  depend  on  yourself 
entirely  how  you  are  received.  And  not  a  soul  will 
be  able  to  say  a  word — "  he  laughed,  " — except  that 
I  am  very  devoted  to  the  beautiful  Miss  Nevers — as 
everybody  else  will  be." 

Jacqueline  remained  motionless  for  a  few  moments, 
an  incomprehensible  expression  on  her  face;  then  she 
went  over  to  him  and  took  one  of  his  hands  in  her 
gloved  ones,  and  stood  looking  down  at  it  in  silence. 

186 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Well,"   he   asked,   smiling. 

She  said,  still  looking  down  at  his  hand  lying  between 
her  own: 

"You  have  behaved  in  the  sweetest  way  to  me — " 
Her  voice  grew  unsteady,  and  she  turned  her  head 
sharply  away. 

"Jacqueline!"  he  exclaimed  under  his  breath.  "It's 
a  broken  reed  you're  trusting.  Don't,  dear.  I'm  like 
all  the  others." 

She  shook  her  head  slightly,  still  looking  away  from 
him.  After  a  short  silence,  her  voice  returned  to  her 
control  again. 

"You  are  very  kind  to  me,  Mr.  Desboro.  When  a 
man  sees  that  a  girl  likes  him — and  is  kind  to  her 
— it  is  wonderful  to  her." 

He  tried  to  take  a  lighter  tone. 

"It's  the  case  of  the  beast  born  in  captivity,  Jac 
queline.  I'm  only  going  through  the  tricks  convention 
has  taught  me.  But  every  instinct  remains  unaltered." 

"That  is  civilisation,  isn't  it?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  it  is — you  wonderful  little 
thing!" 

He  caught  her  hand,  then  encircled  her  waist,  draw 
ing  her  close.  After  a  moment,  she  dropped  her  big, 
fluffy  muff  on  his  shoulder  and  hid  her  flushed  face 
in  the  fur. 

"Don't  trust  me,  will  you?"  he  said,  bluntly. 

"No." 

"Because   I — I'm  an   unaccountable   beast." 

"We — both  have  to  account — sometime — to  some 
body.  Don't  we?"  she  said  in  a  muffled  voice. 

"That  would  never  check  me." 

"It  would— me." 

187 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 


"Spiritual  responsibility?" 

"Yes." 


"Is   that  all?" 

"What  else  is  there  to  remember — when  a  girl — cares 
for  a  man." 

"Do  you  really  care  very  much?" 

Perhaps  she  considered  the  question  superfluous,  for 
she  remained  silent  until  his  nerveless  arm  released  her. 
Then  she  lifted  her  face  from  the  muff.  It  was  pale 
but  smiling  when  he  met  her  eyes. 

"I'll  go  to  see  Mrs.  Hammerton,  some  day,"  she 
said,  "because  it  would  hurt  too  much  not  to  be  able 
to  come  here  when  you  ask  me — and  other  people — 
like  the — the  Clydesdales.  You  were  thinking  of  me 
when  you  thought  of  this,  weren't  you?" 

"In  a  way.  A  girl  has  got  to  reckon  with  what 
people  say." 

She  nodded,  pale  and  expressionless,  slowly  brushing 
up  the  violets  fastened  to  her  muff. 

Farris  appeared,  announced  the  time,  and  held  Des- 
boro's  coat.  They  had  just  margin  enough  to  make 
their  train. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE  following  morning,  Aunt  Hannah  returned 
to  her  tiny  apartment  on  Park  Avenue,  finan 
cially  benefitted  by  her  Westchester  sojourn, 
having  extracted  a  bolt  of  Chinese  loot-silk  for  a  gown 
from  her  nephew's  dismayed  wife,  and  the  usual  check 
from  her  nephew. 

Lindley,  a  slow,  pallid,  and  thrifty  soul,  had  al 
ways  viewed  Aunt  Hannah's  event  with  unfeigned 
alarm,  because,  somehow  or  other,  at  the  close  of  every 
visit  he  found  himself  presenting  her  with  a  check.  And 
it  almost  killed  him. 

Years  ago  he  had  done  it  for  the  first  time.  He  had 
never  intended  to;  certainly  never  meant  to  continue. 
Every  time  she  appeared  he  vowed  to  himself  that  he 
wouldn't.  But  before  her  visit  ended,  the  pressure  of 
custom  became  too  much  for  him ;  a  deadly  sense  of 
obligation  toward  this  dreadful  woman — of  personal 
responsibility  for  her  indigence — possessed  him,  be 
came  gradually  an  obsession,  until  he  exorcised  it  by 
the  present  of  a  check. 

She  never  spoke  of  it — never  seemed  to  hint  at  it — 
always  seemed  surprised  and  doubtful  of  accepting ;  but 
some  devilish  spell  certainly  permeated  the  atmosphere 
in  her  immediate  vicinity,  drawing  perfectly  good 
money  out  of  his  innermost  and  tightly  buttoned 
breast-pockets  and  leaving  it  certified  and  carelessly 
crumpled  in  her  velvet  reticule. 

It  happened  with  a  sickening  regularity  which  now 
189 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

he  had  come  to  view  with  the  modified  internal  fury  of 
resignation.  It  had  simply  become  a  terrible  custom, 
and,  with  all  his  respectable  inertia  and  thrifty  cau 
tion,  adherence  to  custom  ruled  Lindley  Hammerton. 
For  years  he  had  pinched  roses ;  for  years  he  had  drawn 
checks  for  Aunt  Hannah.  Nothing  but  corporeal  dis 
solution  could  terminate  these  customs. 

As  for  Aunt  Hannah,  she  banked  her  check  and  had 
her  bolt  of  silk  made  into  a  gown,  and  trotted  briskly 
about  her  business  with  perennial  self-confidence  in  her 
own  ability  to  get  on. 

Once  or  twice  during  the  following  fortnight  she 
remembered  Jacqueline,  and  mentally  tabulated  her  case 
as  a  possible  source  of  future  income ;  but  social  duties 
were  many  and  acridly  agreeable,  and  pecuniary  pick 
ings  plenty.  Up  to  her  small,  thin  ears  in  intrigue, 
harmless  and  not  quite  so  harmless,  she  made  hay  busily 
while  the  social  sun  shone;  and  it  was  near  the  end  of 
February  before  a  stagnation  in  pleasure  and  business 
brought  Jacqueline's  existence  into  her  mind  again. 

She  called  up  Silverwood,  and  eventually  got  Des- 
boro  on  the  wire. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "that  your  golden-headed 
and  rather  attenuated  inamorata  has  never  had  the 
civility  to  call  on  me !" 

"She  has  been  too  busy." 

"Too  busy  gadding  about  Silverwood  with  you!" 

"She  hasn't  been  here  since  you  saw  her." 

"What!" 

"It's  quite  true.  An  important  collection  is  to  be 
sold  under  the  hammer  on  the  premises;  she  had  the 
contract  to  engineer  that  matter  before  she  undertook 
to  catalogue  my  stuff." 

190 


THE  BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

"Oh!     Haven't  you  seen  her  since?" 

"Yes." 

"Not  at  Silverwood?" 

"No,  only  at  her  office." 

He  could  hear  her  sniff  and  mutter  something,  then : 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  give  some  parties  at 
Silverwood,  and  ask  me  to  bring  your  pretty  friend,' * 
she  said. 

"I  am.  She  has  the  jades  and  crystals  to  catalogue. 
What  I  want,  as  soon  as  she  gets  rid  of  Clydesdale,  is 
for  her  to  resume  work  here — come  up  and  remain  as 
my  guest  until  the  cataloguing  is  finished.  So  you 
see  I'll  have  to  have  you,  too." 

"That's  a  cordial  and  disinterested  invitation, 
James!" 

"Will  you  come?  I'll  ask  half  a  dozen  people.  You 
can  kill  a  few  at  cards,  too." 

"When?" 

"The  first  Thursday  in  March.  It's  a  business  prop 
osition,  but  it's  between  you  and  me,  and  she  is  not  to 
suspect  it." 

"Very  well,"  said  Aunt  Hannah  cheerfully.  "I'll  ar 
range  my  engagements  accordingly.  And  do  try  to 
have  a  gay  party,  James;  and  don't  ask  the  Clydes 
dales.  You  know  how  Westchester  gets  on  my  nerves. 
And  I  always  hated  her." 

"You  are  very  unjust  to  her  and  to  him " 

"You  can't  tell  me  anything  about  Gary  Clydesdale, 
or  about  his  wife,  either,"  she  interrupted  tartly,  and 
rang  off  in  a  temper.  And  Desboro  went  back  to  his 
interrupted  business  with  Vail. 

Since  Jacqueline  had  been  compelled  to  suspend  tem 
porarily  her  inventory  at  Silverwood  in  favor  of  prior 

191 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

engagements,  Desboro  had  been  to  the  city  only  twice, 
and  both  times  to  see  her. 

He  had  seen  her  in  her  office,  remained  on  both  oc 
casions  for  an  hour  only,  and  had  then  taken  the  even 
ing  train  back  to  Silverwood.  But  every  evening  he 
had  written  her  of  the  day  just  ended — told  her  about 
the  plans  for  farming,  now  maturing,  of  the  quiet  life 
at  Silverwood,  how  gradually  he  was  reestablishing 
neighbourly  relations  with  the  countryside,  how  much 
of  a  country  squire  he  was  becoming. 

" — And  the  whole  thing  with  malice  aforethought," 
he  wrote.  " — Every  blessed  move  only  a  strategy  in 
order  that,  to  do  you  honour,  I  may  stand  soberly  and 
well  before  the  community  when  you  are  among  my 
guests. 

"In  tow  of  Aunt  Hannah ;  engaged  for  part  of  the 
day  in  your  business  among  the  jades,  crystals,  and 
porcelains  of  a  celebrated  collection ;  one  of  a  house 
party ;  and  the  guest  of  a  young  man  who  has  returned 
very  seriously  to  till  the  soil  of  his  forefathers ;  all 
that  anybody  can  possibly  think  of  it  will  be  that  your 
host  is  quite  as  captivated  by  your  grace,  wisdom,  and 
beauty  as  everybody  else  will  be. 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  that,  Jacqueline?" 

"I  think,"  she  wrote,  "that  no  other  man  has  ever 
been  as  nice  to  me.  I  do  not  really  care  about  the  other 
people,  but  I  quite  understand  that  you  and  I  could  not 
see  each  other  as  freely  as  we  have  been  doing,  without 
detriment  to  me.  I  like  you — superfluous  admission ! 
And  I  should  miss  seeing  you — humble  confession ! 
And  so  I  suppose  it  is  best  that  everybody  should  know 
who  and  what  I  am — a  business  woman  well-bred  enough 

192 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

to  sit  at  table  with  your  friends,  with  sufficient  self- 
confidence  to  enter  and  leave  a  room  properly,  to  main 
tain  my  grasp  on  the  conversational  ball,  and  to  toss  it 
lightly  to  my  vis-a-vis  when  the  time  comes. 

"All  this  is  worth  doing  and  enduring  for  the  sake 
of  being  your  guest.  Without  conscientious  scruples, 
apprehensions,  perplexities,  and  fears  I  could  never 
again  come  to  Silverwood  and  be  there  alone  with  you 
as  I  have  been.  Always  I  have  been  secretly  unhappy 
and  afraid  after  a  day  with  you  at  Silverwood.  Sooner 
or  later  it  would  have  had  to  end.  It  can  not  go  on — as 
it  has  been  going.  I  know  it.  The  plea  of  business  is 
soon  worn  threadbare  if  carelessly  used. 

"And  so — caring  for  your  friendship  as  I  do — and 
it  having  become  such  a  factor  in  my  life — I  find  it 
easy  to  do  what  you  ask  me;  and  I  have  arranged  to 
go  with  Mrs.  Hammerton  to  Silverwood  on  the  first 
Thursday  in  March,  to  practice  my  profession,  enjoy 
the  guests  at  your  house  party,  and  cultivate  our 
friendship  with  a  clear  conscience  and  a  tranquil  and 
happy  mind. 

"It  was  just  that  little  element  of  protection  I  needed 
to  make  me  more  happy  than  I  have  ever  been.  Some 
how,  I  couldn't  care  for  you  as  frankly  and  freely  as 
I  wanted  to.  And  some  things  have  happened — you 
know  what  I  mean.  I  didn't  reproach  you,  or  pretend 
surprise  or  anger.  I  felt  neither — only  a  confused 
sense  of  unhappiness.  But — I  cared  for  you  enough  to 
submit. 

"Now  I  go  to  you  with  a  sense  of  security  that  is 
delightful.  You  don't  understand  how  a  girl  situated  as 
I  am  feels  when  she  knows  that  she  is  in  a  position  where 
any  woman  has  the  right  to  regard  her  with  suspicion. 

193 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

Skating,  motoring,  with  you,  I  could  not  bear  to  pass 
people  you  knew  and  to  whom  you  bowed — women — 
even  farmers'  wives. 

"But  now  it  will  be  different;  I  feel  so  warmly  con 
fident  at  heart,  so  secure,  that  I  shall  perhaps  dare  to 
say  and  do  and  be  much  that  you  never  suspected  was 
in  me.  The  warm  sun  of  approval  makes  a  very  dif 
ferent  person  of  me.  A  girl,  who,  in  her  heart,  does 
not  approve  of  what  she  is  doing,  and  who  is  always 
expecting  to  encounter  other  women  who  would  not 
approve,  is  never  at  her  best — isn't  even  herself — and 
isn't  really  happy,  even  with  a  man  she  likes  exceeding 
ly.  You  will,  I  think,  see  a  somewhat  different  girl  on 
Thursday." 

"If  your  words  are  sometimes  a  little  misty,"  he 
wrote,  "your  soul  shines  through  everything  you  say, 
with  a  directness  entirely  heavenly.  Life,  for  us,  be 
gins  on  Thursday,  under  cover  no  longer,  but  in  the 
open.  And  the  field  will  be  as  fair  for  you  as  for  me. 
That  is  as  it  should  be ;  that  is  as  far  as  I  care  to 
look.  But  somehow,  after  all  is  done  and  said  that 
ever  will  be  said  and  done  between  you  and  me,  I  am 
conscious  that  when  we  two  emerge  from  the  dream 
called  'living,'  you  will  lead  and  direct  us  both — even 
if  you  never  do  so  here  on  earth. 

"I  am  not  given  to  this  sort  of  stuff. 

"Jacqueline,  dear,  I'd  like  to  amuse  my  guests  with 
something  unusual.  Could  you  help  me  out?" 

She  answered:  "I'll  do  anything  in  the  world  I  can 
to  make  your  house  party  pleasant  for  you  and  your 
guests.  So  I've  asked  Mr.  Sissly  to  give  a  recital.  It 

194 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

is  quite  the  oddest  thing;  you  don't  listen  to  a  sym 
phony  which  he  plays  on  the  organ ;  you  see  it.  He  will 
send  the  organ,  electrical  attachments,  lights,  portable 
stage  and  screen,  to  Silverwood;  and  his  men  will  in 
stall  everything  in  the  armoury. 

"Then,  if  it  would  amuse  your  guests,  I  could  tell 
them  a  little  about  your  jades  and  crystals,  and  do  it 
in  a  rather  unusual  way.  I  think  you'd  rather  like  it. 
Shall  I?" 

He  wrote  some  days  later:  "What  a  darling  you 
are !  Anything  you  do  will  be  charming.  Sissly's  men 
have  arrived  and  are  raising  a  racket  in  the  armoury 
with  hammer  and  saw. 

"The  stage  will  look  quite  wonderful  between  the 
wide  double  rank  of  equestrian  figures  in  armour. 

"Aunt  Hannah  writes  that  you  called  on  her  and 
that  you  and  she  are  coming  up  on  the  train  together, 
which  is  delightfully  sensible,  and  exactly  as  it  should 
be.  Heaven  alone  knows  how  long  you  are  going  to 
be  able  to  endure  her.  It's  rather  odd,  you  know,  but 
I  like  her  and  always  have,  though  she's  made  things 
disagreeable  for  me  more  than  once  in  my  life. 

"Your  room  is  ready;  Aunt  Hannah's  adjoins. 
Quarters  for  other  guests  are  ready  also.  Have  you 
any  idea  how  I  look  forward  to  your  coming?" 

Three  days  later  his  guests  arrived  on  the  first  three 
morning  trains — a  jolly  crowd  of  young  people — nine 
teen  of  them — who  filled  his  automobiles  and  horse- 
drawn  vehicles.  Their  luggage  followed  in  vans,  from 
which  protruded  skis  and  hockey  sticks.  There  being 
no  porter,  the  butler  of  Silverwood  House  received 

195 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

them  in  front  of  the  lodge  at  the  outer  gates,  offering 
the  "guest  cup,"  a  Desboro  custom  of  many  genera 
tions,  originating  in  England,  although  the  lodge  had 
stood  empty  and  the  gates  open  since  his  grandfather's 
time. 

Desboro  welcomed  them  on  his  own  doorstep ;  and 
there  was,  for  a  moment,  an  unconscious  and  unwonted 
grace  in  his  manner  and  bearing — an  undefined  echo 
in  his  voice  of  other  and  more  courtly  times,  as  he  gave 
his  arm  to  Aunt  Hannah  and  led  her  inside  the  hall. 

There  it  exhaled  and  vanished  as  Mrs.  Quant  and 
the  maids  smilingly  conducted  the  guests  to  their  vari 
ous  quarters — vanished  with  the  smiling  formality  of 
his  greeting  to  Jacqueline. 

The  men  returned  first,  clad  in  their  knickerbockers 
and  skating  jackets.  Cocktails  awaited  them  in  the 
billiard-room,  and  they  gathered  there  in  noisy  curiosity 
over  this  celebrated  house  not  often  opened  to  anybody 
except  its  owner. 

"Who  is  the  dream,  Jim?"  demanded  Reginald  Led- 
yard.  "I  mean  the  wonder  with  the  gold  hair,  that 
Mrs.  Hammerton  has  in  tow?" 

"A  friend  of  Aunt  Hannah's — an  expert  in  antique 
art — and  as  clever  and  charming  as  she  is  pretty," 
said  Desboro  pleasantly. 

"High-brow!  Oh,  help!"  muttered  Ledyard. 
"Where's  your  library?  I  want  to  read  up." 

"She  can  talk  like  other  people,"  remarked  Van  Al- 
styne.  "I  got  next  on  the  train — old  lady  Hammer- 
ton  stood  for  me.  She  can  flirt  some,  I'll  tell  you 
those." 

Bertie  Barkley  extracted  the  olive  from  a  Bronx  and 
considered  it  seriously. 

196 


"There  was,  for  a  moment,,  an  unconscious  and  unwonted 
grace  in  his  manner" 


.  . .  ,      I     '. . 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

"The  old  lady  is  on  a  salary,  of  course.  Nobody 
ever  heard  of  anybody  named  Nevers,"  he  remarked. 

"They'll  hear  of  somebody  named  Nevers  now,"  ob 
served  Captain  Herrendene  with  emphasis,  "or,"  he 
added  in  modest  self-depreciation,  "I  am  all  kinds  of  a 
liar." 

"Where  did  you  know  her,  Jim?"  inquired  Ledyard 
curiously. 

"Oh,  Miss  Nevers's  firm  has  charge  of  cataloguing 
my  armour  and  jades.  They're  at  it  still.  That's  how 
I  first  met  her — in  a  business  way.  And  when  I  found 
her  to  be  a  friend  of  Aunt  Hannah's,  I  asked  them 
both  up  here  as  my  guests." 

"You  always  had  an  eye  for  beauty,"  said  Cairns. 
"What  do  you  suppose  Mrs.  Hammerton's  game  is?" 

"Why,  to  make  Miss  Nevers  known  where  she  really 
ought  to  belong,"  replied  Desboro  frankly. 

"How  high  does  she  plan  to  climb?"  asked  Barkley. 
"Above  the  vegetating  line?" 

"Probably  not  as  far  as  the  line  of  perpetual  stu 
pidity,"  said  Desboro.  "Miss  Nevers  appears  to  be  a 
very  busy,  and  very  intelligent,  and  self-sufficient  young 
lady,  and  I  imagine  she  would  have  neither  time  nor 
inclination  to  decorate  any  of  the  restless,  gilt-en 
crusted  sets." 

Van  Alstyne  said:  "She's  got  the  goods  to  deliver 
almost  anywhere  Mrs.  Hammerton  chooses — F.  O.  B. 
what?" 

"She's  some  dream,"  admitted  Ledyard  as  they  all 
moved  toward  the  library. 

There  were  a  lot  of  gay  young  girls  there  in  skating 
costumes ;  Ledyard's  sister  Marie,  with  her  large  figure 
and  pretty  but  slightly  stupid  face;  Helsa  Steyr,  blonde, 

199 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

athletic,  and  red-haired ;  Athalie  Vannis,  with  her  hand 
some,  dark  face,  so  often  shadowed  by  discontent ; 
Barkley's  animated  little  wife,  Elizabeth,  grey-eyed  and 
freckled  and  brimming  with  mischief  of  the  schoolboy 
quality;  the  stately  Katharine  Frere;  Aunt  Hannah; 
and  Jacqueline. 

All  except  the  latter  two  had  been  doing  something 
to  cocktails  of  various  species ;  Jacqueline  took  noth 
ing;  Aunt  Hannah,  Scotch  whiskey  with  relish. 

"It's  about  the  last  of  the  skating,"  said  Desboro, 
"so  we'd  better  take  what  we  can  get  as  soon  as  lunch 
eon  is  over.  Pick  your  partners  and  don't  squabble. 
Me  for  Mrs.  Hammerton !"  and  he  led  her  out. 

At  table  he  noticed  that  Captain  Herrendene  had 
secured  Jacqueline,  and  that  Reggie  Ledyard,  on  the 
other  side,  was  already  neglecting  his  own  partner  in 
his  eager,  good-looking  and  slightly  loutish  fashion 
of  paying  court  to  the  newest  and  prettiest  girl. 

Aunt  Hannah's  glance  continually  flickered  side 
ways  at  Desboro,  but  when  she  discovered  that  he 
was  aware  of  her  covert  scrutiny,  she  said  under 
her  breath: 

"I've  been  shopping  with  her;  the  little  thing  didn't 
know  how  to  clothe  herself  luxuriously  in  the  more  inti 
mate  details.  I'd  like  to  see  anybody's  maid  patronise 
her  now!  Yours  don't  know  enough — but  she'll  go 
where  there  are  those  who  do  know,  sooner  or  later. 
What  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"What  I  always  think,"  he  said  coolly.  "She  is  the 
most  interesting  girl  I  ever  met." 

"She's  too  clever  to  care  very  much  for  what  I  can 
offer  her,"  said  Mrs.  Hammerton  drily.  "Glitter  and 
tinsel  would  never  dazzle  her,  James ;  pretense,  com- 

200 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

placency,  bluff,  bragg,  she'd  devilish  soon  see  through 
it  all  with  those  clear,  intelligent  eyes — see  at  the  bot 
tom  what  lies  squirming  there — anxiety,  self-distrust, 
eternal  dread,  undying  envy,  the  secret  insecurity  of 
those  who  imitate  the  real — which  does  not  exist  in 
America — and  who  know  in  their  hopeless  hearts  that 
they  are  only  shams,  like  that  two-year-old  antique 
tavern  yonder,  made  quaint  to  order." 

He  said  smilingly :  "She'll  soon  have  enough  of  your 
particular  familiars.  But,  little  by  little,  she'll  find 
herself  in  accord  with  people  who  seek  her  as  frankly 
as  she  seeks  them.  Natural  selection,  you  know.  Your 
only  usefulness  is  to  give  her  the  opportunity,  and 
you've  begun  to  do  it,  bless  your  heart." 

She  flashed  a  malicious  glance  at  him ;  under  cover  of 
the  gay  hubbub  she  said: 

"I  may  do  more  than  that,  James." 

"Really." 

"Yes ;  I  may  open  her  eyes  to  men  of  your  sort." 

"Her  eyes  are  open  already,  I  suppose." 

"Not  very  wide.  For  example — you'd  never  marry 
her.  Would  you?" 

"Don't  talk  that  way,"  he  said  coldly. 

"No,  I  don't  have  to  talk  at  all.  I  know.  If  you 
ever  marry,  I  know  what  deadly  species  of  female  it 
will  be.  You're  probably  right ;  you're  that  kind,  too — 
no  real  substance  to  you,  James.  And  so  I  think  I'll 
have  to  look  after  my  intellectual  protegee,  and  be  very 
sure  that  her  pretty  eyes  are  wide  open." 

He  turned  toward  her;  their  glances  met  level  and 
hard: 

"Let  matters  alone,"  he  said.  "I  have  myself  in 
hand." 

201 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"You  have  in  hand  a  horse  with  a  runaway  record, 
James." 

Cairns,  on  her  left,  spoke  to  her;  she  turned  and 
answered,  then  presented  her  well-shaped  back  to  that 
young  gentleman  and  again  crossed  glances  with  Des- 
boro,  who  was  waiting,  cool  as  steel. 

"Come,  James,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "what  do  you 
mean  to  do?  A  man  always  means  something  or  noth 
ing;  and  the  latter  is  the  more  dangerous." 

As  that  was  exactly  what  Desboro  told  himself  he 
had  always  meant,  he  winced  and  remained  silent. 

"Oh,  you — the  lot  of  you!"  she  said  with  smiling 
contempt.  "I'll  equip  that  girl  to  take  care  of  herself 
before  I'm  through  with  her.  Watch  me." 

"It  is  part  of  your  business.  Equip  her  to  take  care 
of  herself  as  thoroughly  as  anybody  you  know.  Then 
it  will  be  up  to  her — as  it  is  up  to  all  women,  after  all 
— and  to  all  men." 

"Oh,  is  it?  You've  all  the  irresponsibility  and  moral 
rottenness  of  your  Cavalier  ancestors  in  you ;  do  vou 
know  it,  James?  The  Puritan,  at  least,  never  doubted 
that  he  was  his  brother's  keeper." 

Desboro  said  doggedly:  "With  the  individual  alone 
rests  what  that  individual  will  be." 

"Is  that  your  mature  belief?"  she  asked  ironically. 

"It  is,  dear  lady." 

"Lord !  To  think  of  a  world  full  of  loosened  crea 
tures  like  you !  A  civilised  society  swarming  with  cal 
low  and  irresponsible  opportunists,  amateur  Jesuits, 
idle  intelligences  reinfected  with  the  toxins  of  their 
own  philosophy!  But,"  she  shrugged,  "I  am  indicting 
man  himself — nations  and  nations  of  him.  Besides, 
we  women  have  always  known  this.  And  hybrids  are 

202 


THE  BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

hybrids.  If  there's  any  claret  in  the  house,  tell  Farris 
to  fetch  some.  Don't  be  angry,  James.  Man  and 
woman  once  were  different  species,  and  the  world  hasi 
teemed  with  their  hybrids  since  the  first  mating." 

Mrs.  Barkley  leaned  across  the  table  toward  him: 

"What's  the  matter,  James?     You  look  dangerous. 'r 

His  face  cleared  and  he  smiled: 

"Nobody  is  really  dangerous  except  to  themselves, 
Betty." 

She  quoted  saucily:  "II  n'y  a  personne  qui  ne  soit 
dangereux  pour  quelqu'un !" 

Mrs.  Hammerton  added:  "II  faut  tout  attendre  et 
tout  craindre  du  temps  et  des  hommes." 

Reggie  Ledyard,  much  flattered,  admitted  the  whole 
sale  indictment  against  his  sex: 

"How  can  we  help  it?  Man,  possessing  always  dual 
personality,  is  naturally  inclined  toward  a  double 
life." 

"Man's  chief  study  has  been  man  for  so  long,"  ob 
served  Mrs.  Hammerton,  "that  the  world  has  passed 
by,  leaving  him  behind,  still  engrossed  in  counting  his 
thumbs.  Name  your  French  philosopher  who  can  beat 
that  reflection,"  she  added  to  Desboro,  who  smiled  ab 
sently. 

From  moment  to  moment  he  had  been  watching  Jac 
queline  and  the  men  always  leaning  toward  her — Reg 
gie  Ledyard  persistently  bringing  to  bear  on  her  the 
full  splendour  of  his  straw-blond  and  slightly  coarse 
beauty ;  Cairns,  receptive  and  debonnaire  as  usual ;  Her- 
rendene,  with  his  keen  smile  and  sallow  visage  lined 
with  the  memory  of  things  that  had  left  their  marks — 
all  the  men  there  had  yielded  to  the  delicate  attraction 
of  her. 

203 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Desboro  said  to  Mrs.  Hammerton :  "Now  you  real 
ise  where  she  really  belongs." 

"Better  than  you  do,"  she  retorted  drily. 

After  luncheon  there  were  vehicles  to  convey  them 
to  the  pond,  a  small  sheet  of  water  down  in  the  Des 
boro  woods.  And  while  a  declining  sun  glittered 
through  the  trees,  the  wooded  shores  echoed  with  the 
clatter  and  scrape  of  skates  and  the  rattle  of  hockey- 
sticks  crossed  in  lively  combat. 

But  inshore  the  ice  had  rotted ;  the  end  of  such  sport 
was  already  in  sight.  Along  the  gravelly  inlet,  where 
water  rippled,  a  dozen  fingerling  trout  lay  half  hidden 
among  the  pebbles ;  over  a  bank  of  soft,  sun-warmed 
snow,  gnats  danced  in  the  sunset  light ;  a  few  tree- 
buds  had  turned  sticky. 

Later,  Vail  came  and  built  a  bonfire ;  Farris  arrived 
with  tea  baskets  full  of  old-fashioned  things,  such  as 
turnovers  and  flip  in  stone  jugs  of  a  century  ago. 

Except  for  a  word  or  two  at  intervals,  Desboro  had 
found  no  chance  to  talk  to  Jacqueline.  Now  and  then 
their  glances  encountered,  lingered,  shifted,  with  scarce 
ly  a  ghost  of  a  smile  in  forced  response  to  importunities. 
So  he  had  played  an  impartial  game  of  hockey,  skated 
with  any  girl  who  seemed  to  be  receptive,  cut  intricate 
figures  with  Mrs.  Hammerton  in  a  cove  covered  with 
velvet-smooth  black  ice,  superintended  the  bonfire  con 
struction,  directed  Farris  with  the  tea. 

Now,  absently  executing  a  "grape-vine,"  he  was 
gliding  along  the  outer  ranks  of  his  guests  with  the 
mechanical  patrolling  instinct  of  a  collie,  when  Jacque 
line  detached  herself  from  a  firelit  group  and  made  him 
a  gay  little  sign  to  halt. 

Picking  her  way  through  the  soft  snow  on  the  points 
204 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

of  her  skates,  she  took  to  the  ice  and  joined  him.  They 
linked  hands  and  swung  out  into  the  starlight. 

"Are  you  enjoying  it?"  he  asked. 

"That's  why  I  signalled  you.  I  never  have  had  such 
a  good  time.  I  wanted  you  to  know  it." 

"You  like  my  friends?" 

She  looked  up:  "They  are  all  so  charming  to  me! 
I  didn't  expect  people  to  be  cordial." 

"You  need  expect  nothing  else  wherever  you  go  and 
whomever  you  meet — barring  the  inevitable  which  no 
attractive  girl  can  avoid  arousing.  Do  you  get  on  with 
Aunt  Hannah?" 

She  laughed:  "Isn't  it  odd?  /  call  her  that,  too. 
She  asked  me  to.  And  do  you  know,  she  has  been  a 
perfect  dear  about  everything.  We  shopped  together; 
I  never  had  quite  ventured  to  buy  certain  fascinating 
things  to  wear.  And  we  had  such  a  good  time  lunching 
at  the  Ritz,  where  I  had  never  dared  go.  Such  beauti 
ful  women !  Such  gowns !  Such  j  ewels !" 

They  halted  and  "looked  back  across  the  ice  at  the 
distant  fire  and  the  dark  forms  moving  about  it. 

"You've  bowled  over  every  man  here,  as  a  matter  of 
course,"  he  said  lightly.  "If  you'll  tell  me  how  you 
like  the  women  I'll  know  whether  they  like  you." 

"Oh,  I  like  them;  they  are  as  nice  to  me  as  they  are 
to  each  other!"  she  exclaimed,  " — except,  perhaps, 
one  or  two " 

"Marie  Ledyard  is  hopelessly  spoiled;  Athalie  Van- 
nis  is  usually  discontented,"  he  said  philosophically. 
"Don't  expect  either  of  them  to  give  three  cheers  fcr 
another  girl's  popularity." 

They  crossed  hands  and  swept  toward  the  centre  of 
the  pond  on  the  "outer  edge."  Jacqueline's  skating 

207 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

skirt  was  short  enough  for  her  to  manage  a  "Dutch 
roll,"  steadied  and  guided  by  Desboro;  then  they  ex 
changed  it  for  other  figures,  not  intricate. 

"Your  friend,  Mr.  Sissly,  is  dining  with  us,"  he  ob 
served. 

"He's  really  very  nice,"  she  said.  "Just  a  little  too 
— artistic — for  you,  perhaps,  and  for  the  men  here — 
except  Captain  Herrendene " 

"Herrendene  is  a  fine  fellow,"  he  said. 

"I  like  him  so  much,"  she  admitted. 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  turned  toward  her  as 
though  to  speak,  but  evidently  reconsidered  the  im 
pulse. 

"He  is  not  very  young,  is  he?"  she  asked. 

"Herrendene?     No." 

"I  thought  not.  Sometimes  in  repose  his  face  seems 
sad.  But  what  kind  eyes  he  has!" 

"He's  a  fine  fellow,"  said  Desboro  without  emphasis. 

Before  they  came  within  the  firelight,  he  asked  her 
whether  she  had  really  decided  to  give  them  a  little 
lecture  on  jades  and  crystals;  and  she  said  that  she 
had. 

"It  won't  be  too  technical  or  too  dry,  I  hope,"  she 
added  laughingly.  "I  told  Captain  Herrendene  what 
I  was  going  to  say  and  do,  and  he  liked  the  idea." 

"Won't  you  tell  me,  too,  Jacqueline?" 

"No,  I  want  you  to  be  surprised.  Besides,  I  haven't 
time;  we've  been  together  too  long  already.  Doesn't 
one's  host  have  to  be  impartially  attentive?  And  I 
think  that  pretty  little  Miss  Steyr  is  signalling  you." 

Herrendene  came  out  on  the  ice  ^toward  them : 

"The  cars  are  here,"  he  said,  "and  Mrs.  Hammer- 
ton  is  cold." 

208 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Dinner  was  an  uproariously  lively  function,  served 
amid  a  perfect  eruption  of  bewildering  gowns  and  jew 
els  and  flowers.  Desboro  had  never  before  seen  Jac 
queline  in  a  dinner  gown,  or  even  attempted  to  visual 
ise  her  beauty  amid  such  surroundings  in  contrast  with 
other  women. 

She  fitted  exquisitely  into  the  charming  mosaic ;  from 
crown  to  toe  she  was  part  of  it,  an  essential  factor  that, 
once  realised,  became  indispensable  to  the  harmony. 

Perhaps,  he  told  himself,  she  did  not  really  domi 
nate  with  the  fresh  delicacy  of  her  beauty ;  perhaps 
it  was  only  what  he  saw  in  her  and  what  he  knew  of 
her  that  made  the  others  shadowy  and  commonplace 
to  him. 

Yet,  in  all  the  curious  eyes  repeatedly  turned  toward 
her,  he  saw  admiration,  willing  or  conceded,  recognised 
every  unspoken  tribute  of  her  own  sex  as  well  as  the 
less  reserved  surrender  of  his;  saw  her  suddenly  de 
veloped  into  a  blossom  of  unabashed  and  youthful  love 
liness  under  what  she  had  once  called  "the  warm  sun 
of  approval";  and  sat  in  vague  and  uneasy  wonder, 
witnessing  the  transfiguration. 

Sissly  was  there,  allotted  to  Katharine  Frere;  and 
that  stately  girl,  usually  credited  among  her  friends 
with  artistic  aspirations,  apparently  found  him  inter 
esting. 

So  all  went  well  enough,  whether  gaily  or  seriously, 
even  with  Aunt  Hannah,  who  had  discovered  under  Des- 
boro's  smiling  composure  all  kinds  of  food  for  reflec 
tion  and  malicious  diversion. 

For  such  a  small  party  it  was  certainly  a  gay  one — 
at  least  people  were  beginning  to  think  so  half  way 
through  dinner — which  merely  meant  that  everybody 

211 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

was  being  properly  appreciated  by  everybody's  neigh 
bours,  and  that  made  everybody  feel  unusually  witty, 
and  irrepressible,  and  a  little  inclined  to  be  silly  toward 
the  end. 

But  then  the  after-dinner  guests  began  to  arrive — 
calm,  perfectly  poised  and  substantial  Westchester 
propositions  who  had  been  bidden  to  assist  at  an  un 
usual  programme,  and  to  dance  afterward. 

The  stodgy  old  house  rang  with  chatter  and  laughter ; 
hall,  stairs,  library,  and  billiard-room  resounded  de 
lightfully  ;  you  could  scare  up  a  pretty  girl  from  al 
most  any  cover — if  you  were  gunning  for  that  variety 
of  girl. 

Reggie  Ledyard  had  managed  to  corner  Jacqueline 
on  the  stairs,  but  couldn't  monopolise  her  nor  protect 
himself  against  the  shameless  intrusion  of  Cairns,  who 
spoiled  the  game  until  Herrendene  raided  the  trio  and 
carried  her  off  to  the  billiard-room  on  a  most  flimsy 
pretext. 

Here,  very  properly,  a  Westchester  youth  of  sterling 
worth  got  her  away  and  was  making  toward  the  library 
with  her  when  Desboro  unhooked  a  hunting  horn  from 
the  wall  and  filled  the  house  with  deafening  blasts  as 
signal  that  the  show  was  about  to  begin  in  the  ar 
moury. 

The  armoury  had  been  strung  with  incandescent 
lights,  which  played  over  the  huge  mounted  figures  in 
mail,  and  glanced  in  a  million  reflections  from  the 
weapons  on  the  wall.  A  curtained  and  raised  stage 
faced  seats  for  a  hundred  people,  which  filled  the  long, 
wide  aisle  between  the  equestrian  shapes ;  and  into  these 
the  audience  was  pouring,  excited  and  mystified  by  the 
odd-looking  and  elaborate  electrical  attachments  flank- 

212 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

ing  the  stage  in  front  of  the  curtained  dressing-rooms. 

Jacqueline,    passing   Desboro,    whispered: 

"I'm  so  thrilled  and  excited.  I  know  people  will  find 
Mr.  Sissly's  lecture  interesting,  but  do  you  think  they'll 
like  mine?" 

"How  do  I  know,  you  little  villain?  You've  told 
Herrendene  what  you  are  going  to  do,  but  you  haven't 
given  me  even  a  hint !" 

"I  know  it;  I  wanted  to — to  please  you — "  Her 
light  hand  fell  for  a  moment  on  his  sleeve,  and  he  saw 
the  blue  eyes  a  little  wistful. 

"You  darling,"  he  whispered. 

"Thank  you.  It  isn't  the  proper  thing  to  say  to 
me — but  I've  quite  recovered  my  courage." 

"Have  you  quite  recovered  all  the  scattered  frag 
ments  of  your  heart?  I  am  afraid  some  of  these  men 
may  carry  portions  of  it  away  with  them." 

"I  don't  think  so,  monsieur.  Really,  I  must  hurry 
and  dress " 

"Dress?" 

"Certainly;  also   make  up!" 

"But  I  thought  you  were  to  give  us  a  little  talk 
on  Chinese  jades." 

"But  I  must  do  it  in  my  own  way,  Mr.  Des " 

"Wait !  "  They  were  in  the  rear  of  the  dressing- 
room  and  he  took  her  hand. 

"I  call  you  Jacqueline,  unreproved.  Is  my  name 
more  difficult  for  you?" 

"Do  you  wish  me  to?     In  cold  blood?" 

"Not  in  cold  blood." 

He  took  her  into  his  arms ;  she  bent  her  head  gravely, 
but  he  felt  her  restless  fingers  worrying  his  sleeve. 

"Jacqueline?" 

213 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Yes— Jim." 

The  swift  fire  in  his  face  answered  the  flush  in  hers ; 
he  drew  her  nearer,  but  she  averted  her  dainty  head  in 
silence  and  stood  so,  her  hand  always  restless  on  his 
arm. 

"You  haven't  changed  toward  me  in  these  few  weeks, 
have  you,  Jacqueline?" 

"Do  you  think  I  have?" 

He  was  silent.  After  a  moment  she  glanced  up  at 
him  with  adorable  shyness.  He  kissed  her,  but  her  lips 
were  cold  and  unresponsive,  and  she  bent  her  head,  still 
picking  nervously  at  the  cloth  of  his  sleeve. 

"I  must  go,"  she  said. 

"I  know  it."     He  released  her  waist. 

She  drew  a  quick,  short  breath  and  looked  up  smil 
ing;  then  sighed  again,  and  once  more  her  blue  eyes 
became  aloof  and  thoughtful. 

He  stood  leaning  against  the  side  of  the  dressing- 
room,  watching  her. 

Finally  she  said  with  composure:  "I  must  go. 
Please  like  what  I  shall  do.  It  will  be  done  to  please 
you — Jim." 

He  opened  the  dressing-room  door  for  her;  she  en 
tered,  turned  to  look  back  at  him  for  an  instant,  then 
closed  the  door. 

He  went  back  to  his  place  among  the  audience. 

A  moment  later  a  temple  gong  struck  three  times; 
the  green  curtains  parted,  revealing  a  white  screen,  and 
Mr.  Lionel  Sissly  advancing  with  a  skip  to  the  foot 
lights.  The  audience  looked  again  at  its  programme 
cards  and  again  read: 

"No.  1 :    A  Soundless  Symphony  .  .  .  Lionel  Sissly." 

"Colour,"  lisped  Mr.  Sissly,  "is  not  only  precious 
214 


THE  BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

for  its  own  sake,  but  also  because  it  is  the  blessed  trans 
mogrification  of  sound.  And  sound  is  sacred  because 
all  vibrations,  audible  or  inaudible,  are  in  miraculous 
harmony  with  that  holiest  of  all  phenomena,  silence !" 

"Help !"  whispered  Ledyard  to  Cairns,  with  resigna 
tion. 

"Any  audible  rate  of  regular  air  vibrations  is  a  musi 
cal  note,"  continued  Mr.  Sissly.  "If  you  double  that 
vibratory  speed,  you  have  the  first  note  of  the  octave 
above  it.  Now,  the  spectrum  band  is  the  colour  coun 
terpart  of  the  musical  octave;  the  ether  vibrates  with 
double  the  speed  at  the  violet  end  of  the  spectrum  band 
that  it  does  at  the  opposite  extremity,  or  red  end.  Let 
me  show  you  the  chromatic  scales  in  colour  and  music 
— the  latter  the  equivalent  of  the  former,  revealing  how 
the  intervals  correspond  when  C  represents  red."  And 
he  flashed  upon  the  screen  a  series  of  brilliant  colours. 

"Remember,"  he  said,  "that  it  is  with  colour  as  it  is 
with  sound — there  is  a  long  range  of  vibrations  below 
and  above  the  first  and  last  visible  colour  and  the  first 
and  last  audible  note —  a  long,  long  range  beyond 
compass  of  the  human  eye  and  ear.  Probably  the  music 
of  the  spheres  is  composed  of  such  harmonies,"  he  sim 
pered. 

"Modern  occidental  music  is  evolved  in  conformity 
with  an  arbitrary  scale,"  he  resumed  earnestly.  "An 
octave  consists  of  seven  whole  tones  and  five  half-tones. 
Combinations  and  sequences  of  notes  or  tints  affect  us 
emotionally — pleasurably  when  harmonious,  painfully 
when  discordant.  But,"  and  his  voice  shook  with  soul 
ful  emotion,  "the  holiest  and  the  most  precious  alliance 
ever  dreamed  of  beyond  the  Gates  of  Heaven  lies  in 

215 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

the  sacred  intermingling  of  harmonious  colour  and  har 
monious  silence.  Let  me  play  for  you,  upon  my  colour 
organ,  my  soundless  symphony  which  I  call  'Weather.' 
Always  in  the  world  there  will  be  weather.  We  have 
it  constantly ;  there  is  so  much  of  it  that  nobody  knows 
how  much  there  is ;  and  I  do  not  see  very  clearly  how 
there  ever  could  be  any  less  than  there  is.  Weather, 
then,  being  the  only  earthly  condition  which  is  eternal, 
becomes  precious  beyond  human  comprehension;  and  I 
have  tried  to  interpret  it  as  a  symphony  of  silence  and 
of  colour  divinely  intermingled." 

Ledyard  whispered  to  Betty  Barkley:  "I'll  go  mad 
and  bite  if  he  says  another  word!" 

She  cautioned  him  with  a  light  touch  of  her  gloved 
hand,  and  strove  very  hard  to  remain  serious  as  Mr. 
Sissly  minced  over  to  his  "organ,"  seated  himself,  and 
gazed  upward. 

All  at  once  every  light  in  the  house  went  out. 

For  a  while  the  great  screen  remained  invisible,  then 
a  faint  sheen  possessed  its  surface,  blotted  out  at  ec 
centric  intervals  by  a  deep  and  thunderous  tint  which 
finally  absorbed  it  and  slowly  became  a  coldly  profound 
and  depthless  blue. 

The  blue  was  not  permanent;  almost  imperceptible 
pulsations  were  stirring  and  modifying  it  toward  a 
warmer  and  less  decisive  hue,  and  through  it  throbbed 
and  ebbed  elusive  sensations  of  palest  turquoise,  prim 
rose  and  shell-pink.  This  waned  and  deepened  into 
a  yellow  which  threatened  to  become  orange. 

Suddenly  all  was  washed  out  in  unaccented  grey; 
the  grey  gradually  became  instinct  with  rose  and  gold ; 
the  gold  was  split  by  a  violet  streak ;  then  virile  scarlet 
tumbled  through  crashing  scales  of  green,  amethyst, 

216 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

crimson,  into  a  chaos  of  chromatic  dissonance,  and  van 
ished  engulfed  in  shimmering  darkness. 

The  lights  flashed  up,  disclosing  Mr.  Sissly,  very 
pale  and  damp  of  features,  facing  the  footlights  again. 

"That,"  he  faltered,  amid  a  stillness  so  profound 
that  it  seemed  to  fill  the  ear  like  a  hollow  roar, — "that 
is  weather.  If  you  approve  it,  the  most  precious  ex 
pression  of  your  sympathy  will  be  absolute  silence." 

Fortunately,   not   even   Reggie  Ledyard   dropped. 

Mr.  Sissly  passed  a  lank  and  lily  hand  across  his 
large  pale  eyes. 

"Like  the  Japanese,"  he  lisped,  "I  bring  to  you  my 
most  precious  thought-treasures  one  at  a  time — and 
never  more  than  two  between  the  rising  of  the  orb  of 
day  and  the  veiling  of  it  at  eventide.  I  offer  you,  on 
the  altar  of  my  colour  organ,  a  transposition  of  Von 
Schwiggle's  symphony  in  A  minor ;  and  I  can  only 
say  that  it  is  replete  with  a  meaning  so  exquisitely 
precious  that  no  human  intelligence  has  yet  penetrated 
it." 

Out  went  the  lights.  Presently  the  screen  became 
visible.  Upon  it  there  seemed  to  be  no  colour,  no  hint 
of  any  tint,  no  quality,  no  value.  It  was  merely  vis 
ible,  and  remained  so  for  three  mortal  minutes.  Then 
the  lights  broke  out,  revealing  Mr.  Sissly  half  faint 
ing  at  his  organ,  and  two  young  women  in  Greek  robes 
waving  bunches  of  violets  at  him.  And  the  curtain 
fell. 

"There  only  remains,"  whispered  Ledyard,  "the 
funny-house  for  me." 

"If  you  make  me  laugh  I'll  never  forgive  you,"  Mrs. 
Barkley  warned  him  under  her  breath.  "But — oh,  do 
look  at  Mrs.  Hammerton !" 

217 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Aunt  Hannah's  visage  resembled  that  of  a  cornered 
and  enraged  mink  surrounded  by  enemies. 

"If  that  man  comes  near  me,"  she  said  to  Desboro, 
"I  shall  destroy  him  with  hatpins.  You'd  better  keep 
him  away.  I'm  morally  and  nervously  disorganised." 

Sissly  had  come  off  the  stage  and  now  stood  in  the 
wide  aisle,  surrounded  by  the  earnest  and  intellectual 
womanhood  of  Westchester,  eagerly  seeking  more  light. 

But  there  was  little  in  Mr.  Sissly's  large  and  washed- 
out  eyes ;  even  less,  perhaps,  than  illuminated  his  intel 
lect.  He  gazed  wanly  upon  adoration,  edging  his  way 
toward  Miss  Frere,  who,  at  dinner,  had  rashly  admitted 
that  she  understood  him. 

"Was  it  satisfying?"  he  lisped,  when  he  had  attained 
to  her  vicinity. 

"It  was  most — remarkable,"  she  said,  bewildered. 
"So  absolutely  new  to  me  that  I  can  find  nothing  as 
yet  to  say  to  you,  except  thank  you." 

"Why  say  it?  Why  not  merely  look  it?  Your  silence 
would  be  very,  very  precious  to  me,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.  And  the  stately  Miss  Frere  blushed. 

The  audience,  under  the  stimulus  of  the  lights,  recov 
ered  very  quickly  from  its  semi-stupor,  and  everybody 
was  now  discussing  with  animation  the  unique  experi 
ence  of  the  past  half -hour.  New  York  chattered; 
Westchester  discussed;  that  was  the  difference.  Both 
had  expected  a  new  kind  of  cabaret  show;  neither  had 
found  the  weird  performance  disappointing.  Flippant 
and  unintellectual  young  men  felt  safe  in  the  certainty 
that  neither  their  pretty  partners  nor  the  more  serious 
representatives  of  the  substantial  county  knew  one 
whit  more  about  soundless  symphonies  than  did  they. 

So  laughter  and  noise  filled  the  armoury  with  a  gaily 
218 


She  lost   herself   in   a   dreamy   Bavarian   folk-song" 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

subdued  uproar,  silenced  only  when  Katharine  Frere's 
harp  was  brought  in,  and  the  tall,  handsome  girl,  with 
out  any  preliminaries,  went  forward  and  seated  herself, 
drew  the  gilded  instrument  back  against  her  right 
shoulder,  set  her  feet  to  the  pedals,  her  fingers  to  the 
strings,  and  wandered  capriciously  from  Le  Donne 
Curiose  and  the  far,  brief  echoes  of  its  barcarolle, 
into  Koenigskinder,  and  on  through  Versiegelt,  till 
she  lost  herself  in  a  dreamy  Bavarian  folk-song  which 
died  out  as  sunset  dies  on  the  far  alms  of  the  Red 
Valepp. 

Great  applause ;  no  cabaret  yet.  The  audience  looked 
at  the  programme  and  read: 

"A  Thousand  Years   B.C.     .     .     .     Miss   Nevers." 

And  Reggie  Ledyard  was  becoming  restless,  think 
ing  perhaps  that  a  little  ragtime  of  the  spheres  might 
melt  the  rapidly  forming  intellectual  ice,  and  was  say 
ing  so  to  anybody  who'd  listen,  when  ding-dong-dang! 
ding-dong!  echoed  the  oriental  gong.  Out  went  the 
lights,  the  curtain  split  open  and  was  gathered  at  the 
wings ;  a  shimmering  radiance  grew  upon  the  stage 
disclosing  a  huge  gold  and  green  dragon  of  porcelain 
on  its  faience  pedestal.  And  there,  high  cradled  be 
tween  the  forepaws  of  the  ancient  Mongolian  mon 
ster,  sat  a  slim  figure  in  silken  robes  of  turquoise,  rose, 
and  scarlet,  a  Chinese  lute  across  her  knees,  slim  feet 
pendant  below  the  rainbow  skirt. 

Her  head-dress  was  wrought  fantastically  of  open 
work  gold,  inlaid  with  a  thousand  tiny  metallic  blue 
feathers,  accented  by  fiery  gems;  across  the  silky  folds 
of  her  slitted  tunic  were  embroidered  in  iris  tints  the 
single-winged  birds  whirling  around  each  other  between 
floating  clouds;  little  clog-like  shoes  of  silk  and  gold, 

221 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

embroidered    with    moss-green    arabesques    inset    with 
orange  and  scarlet,  shod  the  feet. 

Ancient  Cathay,  exquisitely,  immortally  young,  sat 
in  jewelled  silks  and  flowers  under  the  huge  and  snarling 
dragon.  And  presently,  string  by  string,  her  idle  lute 
awoke,  picked  with  the  plectrum,  note  after  note  in 
strange  and  unfamiliar  intervals ;  and,  looking  straight 
in  front  of  her,  she  sang  at  random,  to  "the  sorrows 
of  her  lute,"  verses  from  "The  Maker  of  Moons,"  sung 
by  Chinese  lovers  a  thousand  years  ago : 

"Like  to  a  Dragon  in  the  Sky 
The  fierce  Sun  flames  from  East  to  West; 
The  flower  of  Love  within  my  breast 
Blooms  only  when  the  Moon  is  high 
And  Thou  art  nigh." 

The  dropping  notes  of  her  lute  answered  her,  rippled 
on,  and  were  lost  like  a  little  rill  trickling  into  dark 
ness. 

"The  Day  burns  like  a  Dragon's  flight 
Until  Thou  comest  in  the  night 
With  thy  cool  Moon  of  gold — 
Then  I  unfold." 

A  faint  stirring  of  the  strings,  silence ;  then  she 
struck  with  her  plectrum  the  weird  opening  chord  of 
that  sixth  century  song  called  "The  Night  Revel" ;  and 
sang  to  the  end  the  ancient  verses  set  to  modern  music 
by  an  unknown  composer: 

"Along  the  River  scarlet  Lanterns  glimmer, 
Where  gilded  Boats  and  darkling  Waters  shimmer; 
Laughter  with  Singing  blends; 
But  Love  begins  and  ends 
Forever  with  a  sigh — 
A  whispered  sigh. 

222 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"In  fire-lit  pools  the  crimson  Carp  are  swirling; 
The  painted  peacocks  shining  plumes  are  furling; 
Now  in  the  torch-light  by  the  Gate 
A  thousand  Lutes  begin  the  Fete 
With  one  triumphant  Cry! 
Why  should  Love  sigh?" 

The  curtain  slowly  closed  on  the  echoes  of  her  lute; 
there  came  an  interval  of  absolute  silence,  then  an  up 
roar  of  cries  and  of  people  getting  to  their  feet,  call 
ing  out:  "Go  on!  Go  on!  Don't  stop!"  No  ap 
plause  except  this  excited  clamour  for  more,  and  the 
racket  of  moving  chairs. 

"Good  Lord!"  muttered  Captain  Herrendene.  "Did 
you  ever  see  anything  as  beautiful  as  that  girl?" 

And :  "Where  did  she  learn  such  things  ?"  demanded 
people  excitedly  of  one  another.  "It  must  be  the  real 
business  !  How  does  she  know  ?" 

The  noise  became  louder  and  more  emphatic ;  calls  for 
her  reappearance  redoubled  and  persisted  until  the 
gong  again  sounded,  the  lights  went  out,  and  the  cur 
tains  twitched  once  more  and  parted. 

She  slid  down  from  her  cradled  perch  between  the 
forelegs  of  the  shadowy  dragon  and  came  to  the  edge 
of  the  footlights. 

"I  was  going  to  show  you  one  or  two  jades  from 
the  Desboro  collection,  and  tell  you  a  little  about  them," 
she  began,  "but  my  lute  and  I  will  say  for  you  another 
song  of  ancient  China,  if  you  like.  It  was  made  by 
Kao-Shih  about  seven  hundred  years  after  the  birth 
of  Christ.  He  was  one  of  the  T'ang  poets — and  not  a 
very  cheerful  one.  This  is  his  song." 

And  she  recited  for  them:  "There  was  a  king  of 
Liang." 

223 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

After  that  she  stepped  back;  but  they  would  not 
have  it,  to  the  point  of  enthusiastic  rudeness. 

She  recited  for  them  Meng  Hao-Jan's  "A  Friend  Ex 
pected,"  from  "The  Maker  of  Moons,"  and  the 
quatrains  of  the  lovely,  naive  little  "Spring  Dream," 
written  by  Ts'en-Ts'an  in  the  eighth  century. 

But  they  demanded  still  more.  She  laid  aside  her 
lute  and  intoned  for  them  the  noble  lines  of  China's 
most  famous  writer: 

"Thou  that  hast  seen  six  kingdoms  pass  away " 

Then,  warming  to  her  audience,  and  herself  thrilled 
with  the  spirit  of  the  ancient  splendour,  she  moved 
forward  in  her  whispering  silks,  and,  slightly  bending, 
her  finger  lifted  like  one  who  hushes  children  with  a 
magic  tale,  she  spoke  to  them  of  Fei-yen,  mistress  of  the 
Emperor ;  and  told  them  how  T'ai-Chen  became  an  em 
press  ;  sang  for  them  the  song  of  Yu  Lao,  the  "Song  of 
the  Moon  Moth" : 

"The  great  Night  Moth  that  bears  her  name 

Is  winged  in  green, 
Pale  as  the  June  moon's  silver  flame 

Her  silken  sheen: 
No  other  flame  they  know,  these  twain 

Where  dark  dews  rain — 
This  great  Night  Moth  that  bears  her  name 

And  my  sweet  Queen; 
So  let  me  light  my  Lantern  flame 

And  breathe  Her  name." 

She  held  her  audience  in  the  palm  of  her  smooth 
little  hand;  she  knew  it,  and  tasted  power.  She  told 
them  of  the  Blue  Mongol's  song,  reciting: 

224 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"From  the  Gray  Plains  I  ride, 

Where  the  gray  hawks  wheel, 
In  armour  of  lacquered  hide, 

Sabre  and  shield  of  steel; 
The  lance  in  my  stirrup  rattles, 

And  the  quiver  and  bow  at  my  back 
Clatter!     I  sing  of  Battles, 

Of  Cities  put  to  the  sack! 
Where  is  the  Lord  of  the  West, 

The  Golden  Emperor's  son? 
I  swung  my  Mongol  sabre; — 

He  and  the  Dead  are  one. 
For  the  tawny  Lion  of  the  lort 

And  the  Sun  of  the  World  are  One !" 

Then  sbe  told  them  the  old  Chinese  tale  called  "The 
Never-Ending  Wrong" — the  immortal  tragedy  of  that 
immortal  maid,  "a  reed  in  motion  and  a  rose  in  flame," 
from  where  she  alights  "in  the  white  hibiscus  bower" 
to  where  "death  is  drumming  at  the  door"  and  "ten 
thousand  battle-chariots  on  the  wing"  come  clashing 
to  a  bait;  and  the  trapped  King,  her  lover,  sends  her 
forth 

"Lily  pale, 
Between  tall  avenues  of  spears,  to  die." 

And  so,  amid  "the  sullen  soldiery,"  white  as  a  flower, 
and  all  alone  in  soul,  she  "shines  through  tall  ave 
nues  of  spears,  to  die." 

"The  King  has  sought  tbe  darkness  of  his  hands," 
standing  in  stricken  grief,  then  turns  and  gazes  at  what 
lies  there  at  his  feet  amid  its  scattered 

" — Ornaments  of  gold, 

One  with  the  dust;  and  none  to  gather  them; — 
Hair-pins  of  jade  and  many  a  costly  gem, 
Kingfishers'  wings  and  golden  beads  scarce  cold." 
225 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Lingering  a  moment  in  the  faint  reflection  of  the 
low-turned  footlights,  she  stood  looking  out  over  the 
silent  audience;  and  perhaps  her  eyes  found  what  they 
had  been  seeking,  for  she  smiled  and  stepped  back  as 
the  curtain  closed.  And  no  uproar  of  applause  could 
lure  her  forth  again  until  the  lights  had  been  long  blaz 
ing  and  the  dancers  were  whirling  over  the  armoury 
floor,  and  she  had  washed  the  paint  from  lid  and  lip 
and  cheek,  and  put  off  her  rustling  antique  silken  splen 
dour  to  bewitch  another  century  scarce  begun. 

Desboro,  waiting  at  her  dressing-room  door  for  her, 
led  her  forth. 

"You  have  done  so  much  for  me,"  he  whispered.  "Is 
there  anything  in  all  the  world  I  can  do  for  you,  Jac 
queline  ?" 

She  was  laughing,  flushed  by  the  flattery  and  compli 
ments  from  every  side,  but  she  heard  him ;  and  after  a 
moment  her  face  altered  subtly.  But  she  answered 
lightly: 

"Can  I  ask  for  more  than  a  dance  or  two  with  you? 
Is  not  that  honour  enough?"  Her  voice  was  gay  and 
mocking,  but  the  smile  had  faded  from  eye  and  lip ;  only 
the  curved  sweetness  of  the  mouth  remained. 

They  caught  the  music's  beat  and  swung  away  to 
gether  among  the  other  dancers,  he  piloting  her  with 
great  adroitness  between  the  avenues  of  armoured  fig 
ures. 

When  he  had  the  opportunity,  he  said :  "What  may 
I  send  you  that  you  would  care  for?" 

"Send  me?"  She  laughed  lightly  again.  "Let  me 
see!  Well,  then,  perhaps  you  may  one  day  send  me — 
send  me  forth  'between  tall  avenues  of  spears,  to  die.'  ' 

"What !"  he  said  sharply. 

226 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"The  song  is  still  ringing  in  my  head — that's  all. 
Send  me  any  inexpensive  thing  you  wish — a  white  car 
nation — I  don't  really  care — "  she  looked  away  from 
him — "as  long  as  it  comes  from  you." 


CHAPTER  X 

DESBORO'S  guests  were  determined  to  turn  the 
house  out  of  the  windows ;  its  stodgy  respecta 
bility  incited  them;  every  smug,  smooth  por 
trait  goaded  them  to  unusual  effort,  and  they  racked 
their  brains  to  invent  novelties. 

On  one  day  they  opened  all  the  windows  in  the  dis 
used  west  wing,  flooded  the  ground  floor,  hung  the  great 
stone  room  with  paper  lanterns,  and  held  an  ice  carni 
val.  As  masks  and  costumes  had  been  made  entirely  out 
of  paper,  there  were  several  startling  effects  and  abrupt 
retirements  to  repair  damages ;  but  the  dancing  on 
skates  in  the  lantern  light  was  very  pretty,  and  even 
the  youth  and  pride  of  Westchester  found  the  pace  not 
unsuitably  rapid. 

On  another  day,  Desboro's  feminine  guests  sent  to 
town  for  enough  green  flannel  to  construct  caricatures 
of  hunting  coats  for  everybody. 

The  remains  of  a  stagnant  pack  of  harriers  vegetated 
on  a  neighbouring  estate;  Desboro  managed  to  mount 
his  guests  on  his  own  live-stock,  including  mules,  farm 
horses,  polo  ponies,  and  a  yoke  of  oxen ;  and  the  county 
saw  a  hunting  that  they  were  not  likely  to  forget. 

Reggie  Ledyard  was  magnificent  astride  an  ox,  with 
a  paper  megaphone  for  a  hunting  horn,  rubber  boots, 
and  his  hastily  basted  coat  split  from  skirt  to  collar. 
The  harriers  ran  wherever  they  pleased,  and  the  as 
tonished  farm  mules  wouldn't  run  at  all.  There  was 

228 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

hysterical  excitement  when  one  cotton-tail  rabbit  was 
started  behind  a  barn  and  instantly  lost  under  it. 

The  hunt  dinner  was  a  weird  and  deafening  affair, 
and  the  Weber-Field  ball  costumes  unbelievable. 

Owing  to  reaction  and  exhaustion,  repentant  girls 
came  to  Jacqueline  requesting  an  interim  of  intellectual 
recuperation;  so  she  obligingly  announced  a  lecture  in 
the  jade  room,  and  talked  to  them  very  prettily  about 
jades  and  porcelains,  suiting  her  words  to  their  intel 
lectual  capacity,  which  could  grasp  Kang-he  porce 
lains  and  Celedon  and  Sang-de-boeuf,  but  balked  at  the 
"three  religions,"  and  found  blanc  de  Chine  uninspir 
ing.  So  she  told  them  about  the  famille  vert  and  the 
famille  rose;  about  the  K'ang  Hsi  period,  which  they 
liked,  and  how  the  imperial  kilns  at  Kiangsi  developed 
the  wonderful  clalr  de  Iwne  "turquoise  blue"  and  "peach 
bloom,"  for  which  some  of  their  friends  or  relatives 
had  paid  through  their  various  and  assorted  noses. 

All  of  this  her  audience  found  interesting  because 
they  recognised  in  the  exquisite  examples  from  Des- 
boro's  collection,  with  which  Jacqueline  illustrated  her 
impromptu  lecture,  objects  both  fashionable  and  ex 
pensive;  and  what  is  both  fashionable  and  expensive 
appeals  very  forcibly  to  mediocrity. 

"I  saw  a  jar  like  that  one  at  the  Clydesdales',"  said 
Reggie  Ledyard,  a  trifle  excited  at  his  own  unexpected 
intelligence.  "How  much  is  it  worth,  Miss  Nevers?" 

She  laughed  and  looked  at  the  vase  between  her  slen 
der  fingers. 

"Really,"  she  said,  "it  isn't  worth  very  much.  But 
wealthy  people  have  established  fictitious  values  for 
many  rather  crude  and  commonplace  things.  If  people 
had  the  courage  to  buy  only  what  appealed  to  them 

229 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

personally,  there  would  be  a  mighty  crash  in  tumbling 
values." 

"We'd  all  wake  up  and  find  ourselves  stuck,"  re 
marked  Van  Alstyne,  who  possessed  some  pictures  which 
he  had  come  to  loathe,  but  for  which  he  had  paid  ter 
rific  prices.  "Jim,  do  you  want  to  buy  any  primitives, 
guaranteed  genuine?" 

"There's  the  thrifty  Dutch  trader  for  you,"  said 
Reggie.  "I'm  loaded  with  rickety  old  furniture,  too. 
They  got  me  to  furnish  my  place  with  antiques!  But 
you  don't  see  me  trying  to  sell  'em  to  my  host  at  a 
house  party!" 

"Stop  your  disputing,"  said  Desboro  pleasantly, 
"and  ask  Miss  Nevers  for  her  professional  opinion 
later.  The  chances  are  that  you  both  have  been  prop 
erly  stuck,  and  I  never  had  any  sympathy  for  wealthy 
ignorance,  anyway." 

But  Ledyard  and  Van  Alstyne,  being  very  wealthy, 
became  frightfully  depressed  over  the  unfeeling  jibes 
of  Desboro ;  and  Jacqueline  seemed  to  be  by  way  of  ac 
quiring  a  pair  of  new  clients. 

In  fact,  both  young  men  at  various  moments  ap 
proached  her  on  the  subject,  but  Desboro  informed 
them  that  they  might  with  equal  propriety  ask  a  phy 
sician  to  prescribe  for  them  at  a  dance,  and  that  Miss 
Nevers'  office  was  open  from  nine  until  five. 

"Gad,"  remarked  Ledyard  to  Van  Alstyne,  with  in 
creasing  respect,  "she  is  some  girl,  believe  me,  Stuyve. 
Only  if  she  ever  married  up  with  a  man  of  our  kind — 
good-night!  She'd  quit  him  in  a  week." 

Van  Alstyne  touched  his   forehead  significantly. 

"Sure,"  he  said.  "Nothing  doing  inside  our  conks. 
But  why  the  Lord  made  her  such  a  peach  outside  as 

230 


THE  BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

well  as  inside  is  driving  me  to  Jersey !  Most  of  'em 
are  so  awful  to  look  at,  don't  y'  know.  Come  on,  any 
way.  7  can't  keep  away  from  her." 

"She's  somewhere  with  the  others  playing  baseball 
golf,"  said  Reggie,  gloomily,  following  his  friend. 
"Isn't  it  terrible  to  see  a  girl  in  the  world  like  that — 
apparently  created  to  make  some  good  gink  happy — 
and  suddenly  find  out  that  she  has  even  more  brains 
than  beauty!  My  God,  Stuyve,  it's  hard  on  a  man 
like  me." 

"Are  you  really  hard  hit?" 

"Am  I?     And  how  about  you?" 

"It's  the  real  thing  here,"  admitted  Van  Alstyne. 
"But  what's  the  use?" 

They  agreed  that  there  was  no  use;  but  during  the 
dance  that  evening  both  young  men  managed  to  make 
their  intentions  clear  to  Jacqueline. 

Reggie  Ledyard  had  persuaded  her  to  a  few  min 
utes'  promenade  in  the  greenhouse ;  and  there,  standing 
amid  thickets  of  spicy  carnations,  the  girl  listened 
to  her  first  proposal  from  a  man  of  that  outer 
world  about  which,  until  a  few  days  ago,  she  had  known 
nothing. 

The  boy  was  not  eloquent;  he  made  a  clumsy  at 
tempt  to  kiss  her  and  was  defeated.  He  seemed  to  her 
very  big,  and  blond,  and  handsome  as  he  stood  there; 
and  she  felt  a  little  pity  for  him,  too,  partly  because 
his  ideas  were  so  few  and  his  vocabulary  so  limited. 

Perplexed,  silent,  sorry  for  him,  yet  still  conscious 
of  a  little  thrill  of  wonder  and  content  that  a  man  of 
the  outer  world  had  found  her  eligible,  she  debated 
within  herself  how  best  to  spare  him.  And,  as  usual, 
the  truth  presented  itself  to  her  as  the  only  explanation. 

231 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"You  see,"  she  said,  lifting  her  troubled  eyes,  "I  am 
in  love  with  some  one  else." 

"Good  God!"  he  muttered.  After  a  silence  he  said 
humbly:  "Would  it  be  unpardonable  if  I — would  you 
tell  me  whether  you  are  engaged?" 

She  blushed  with  surprise  at  the  idea. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said,  startled.  "I — don't  expect  to 
be." 

"What?"  he  exclaimed  incredulously.  "Is  there  a 
man  on  earth  ass  enough  not  to  fall  in  love  with  you  if 
you  ever  condescended  to  smile  at  him  twice?" 

But  the  ideas  which  he  was  evoking  seemed  to  dis 
tress  her,  and  she  averted  her  face  and  stood  twisting 
a  long-stemmed  carnation  with  nervous  fingers. 

Not  even  to  herself,  either  before  or  since  Desboro's 
letter  which  had  revealed  him  so  unmistakably, 
had  the  girl  ventured  in  her  inmost  thoughts  to 
think  the  things  which  this  big,  blond,  loutish  boy  had 
babbled. 

What  Desboro  was,  she  understood.  She  had  had 
the  choice  of  dismissing  him  from  her  mind,  with  scorn 
and  outraged  pride  as  aids  to  help  the  sacrifice,  or  of 
accepting  him  as  he  was — as  she  knew  him  to  be — for 
the  sake  of  something  about  him  as  yet  inexplicable  even 
to  herself. 

And  she  had  chosen. 

But  now  a  man  of  Desboro's  world  had  asked  her  to 
be  his  wife.  More  than  that;  he  had  assumed  that  she 
was  fitted  to  be  the  wife  of  anybody. 

They  walked  back  together.  She  was  adorable  with 
him,  kind,  timidly  sympathetic  and  smilingly  silent  by 
turns,  venturing  even  to  rally  him  a  little,  console  him 

232 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

a  little,  moved  by  an  impulse  toward  friendship  wholly 
unfeigned. 

"All  I  have  to  say  is,"  he  muttered,  "that  you're  a 
peach  and  a  corker ;  and  I'm  going  to  invent  some  way 
of  marrying  you>  even  if  it  lands  me  in  an  East  Side 
night-school." 

Even  he  joined  in  her  gay  laughter;  and  presently 
Van  Alstyne,  who  had  been  glowering  at  them,  man 
aged  to  get  her  away.  But  she  would  have  nothing 
further  to  do  with  greenhouses,  or  dark  landings,  or 
libraries ;  so  he  asked  her  bluntly  while  they  were  danc 
ing  ;  and  she  shook  her  head,  and  very  soon  dropped  his 
arm. 

There  was  a  bay-window  near  them ;  she  made  a  slight 
gesture  of  irritation ;  and  there,  in  the  partly  curtained 
seclusion,  he  learned  that  she  was  grateful  and  happy 
that  he  liked  her  so  much ;  that  she  liked  him  very  much, 
but  that  she  loved  somebody  else. 

He  took  it  rather  badly  at  first ;  she  began  to  under 
stand  that  few  girls  would  have  lightly  declined  a  Van 
Alstyne;  and  he  was  inclined  to  be  patronising,  sulky 
and  dignified — an  impossible  combination — for  it 
ditched  him  finally,  and  left  him  kissing  her  hands  and 
declaring  constancy  eternal. 

That  night,  at  parting,  Desboro  retained  her  offered 
hand  a  trifle  longer  than  convention  required,  and 
looked  at  her  more  curiously  than  usual. 

"Are  you  enjoying  the  party,  Jacqueline?" 

"Every  minute  of  it.     I  have  never  been  as  happy." 

"I  suppose  you  realise  that  everybody  is  quite  mad 
about  you." 

"Everybody  is  nice  to  me !  People  are  so  much  kinder 
than  I  imagined." 

233 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Are  they?  How  do  you  get  on  with  the  gor- 
gon?" 

"Mrs.  Hammerton?  Do  you  know  she  is  perfectly 
sweet?  I  never  dreamed  she  could  be  so  gentle  and 
thoughtful  and  considerate.  Why — and  it  seems 
almost  ridiculous  to  say  it — she  seems  to  have  the  ideas 
of  a  mother  about  whatever  concerns  me.  She  actually 
fusses  over  me  sometimes — and — it  is — agreeable." 

An  inexplicable  shyness  suddenly  overcame  her,  and 
she  said  good-night  hastily,  and  mounted  the  stairs  to 
her  room. 

Later,  when  she  was  prepared  for  bed,  Mrs.  Ham 
merton  knocked  and  came  in. 

"Jacqueline,"  she  said  bluntly,  "what  was  Reggie 
Ledyard  saying  to  you  this  evening?  I'll  box  his  ears 
if  he  proposed  to  you.  Did  he?" 

"I— I  am  afraid  he  did." 

"You  didn't  take  him?" 

"No." 

"I  should  think  not !  I'd  as  soon  expect  you  to  marry 
a  stable  groom.  He  has  all  the  beauty  and  healthy 
colour  of  one.  Also  the  distinguished  mental  capacity. 
You  don't  want  that  kind." 

"I  don't  want  any  kind." 

"I'm  glad  of  it.  Did  any  other  fool  hint  anything 
more  of  that  sort?" 

"Mr.  Van  Alstyne." 

"Oho!  Stuyvesant,  too?  Well,  what  did  you  say  to 
him?"  asked  the  old  lady,  with  animation. 

"I  said  no." 

"What?" 

"Of  course,  I  said  no.  I  am  not  in  love  with  Mr.  Van 
Alstyne." 

234 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Child!  Do  you  realise  that  you  had  the  oppor 
tunity  of  your  life !" 

Jacqueline's  smile  was  confused  and  deprecating. 

"But  when  a  girl  doesn't  care  for  a  man " 

"Do  you  mean  to  marry  for  love?" 

The  girl  sat  silent  a  moment,  then  shook  her  head. 

"I  shall  not  marry,"  she  said. 

"Nonsense !  And  if  you  feel  that  way,  what  am  I 
good  for?  What  earthly  use  am  I  to  you?  Will  you 
kindly  inform  me?" 

She  had  seated  herself  on  the  bed's  edge,  leaning  over 
the  girl  where  she  lay  on  her  pillows. 

"Answer  me,"  she  insisted.  "Of  what  use  am  I  to 
you?" 

For  a  full  minute  the  girl  lay  there  looking  up  at  her 
without  stirring.  Then  a  smile  glimmered  in  her  eyes ; 
she  lifted  both  arms  and  laid  them  on  the  older  woman's 
shoulders. 

"You  are  useful — this  way,"  she  said;  and  kissed  her 
lightly  on  the  forehead. 

The  effect  on  Aunt  Hannah  was  abrupt;  she  caught 
the  girl  to  her  breast  and  held  her  there  fiercely  and  in 
silence  for  a  moment ;  then,  releasing  her,  tucked  her  in 
with  mute  violence,  turned  off  the  light  and  marched 
out  without  a  word. 

Day  after  day  Desboro's  guests  continued  to  turn 
the  house  inside  out,  ransacking  it  from  garret  to  cellar. 

"We  don't  intend  to  do  anything  in  this  house  that 
anybody  has  ever  done  here,  or  at  any  house  party," 
explained  Reggie  Ledyard  to  Jacqueline.  "So  if  any 
lady  cares  to  walk  down  stairs  on  her  head  the  incident 
will  be  quite  in  order." 

235 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Can  she  slide  down  the  banisters  instead?"  asked 
Helsa  Steyr. 

"Oh,  you'll  have  to  slide  up  to  be  original,"  said 
Betty  Barkley. 

"How  can  anybody  slide  up  the  banisters  ?"  demanded 
Reggie  hotly. 

"You've  the  intellect  of  a  terrapin,"  said  Betty  scorn 
fully.  "It's  because  nobody  has  ever  done  it  that  it 
ought  to  be  done  here." 

Desboro,  seated  on  the  pool  table,  told  her  she  could 
do  whatever  she  desired,  including  arson,  as  long  as  she 
didn't  disturb  the  Aqueduct  Police. 

Katharine  Frere  said  to  Jacqueline:  "Everything 
you  do  is  so  original.  Can't  you  invent  something  new 
for  us  to  do?" 

"She  might  suggest  that  you  all  try  to  think,"  said 
Mrs.  Hammerton  tartly.  "That  would  be  novelty 
enough." 

Cairns  seized  the  megaphone  and  shouted :  "Help ! 
Help !  Aunt  Hannah  is  after  us !" 

Captain  Herrendene,  seated  beside  Desboro  with  a 
half  smile  on  his  face,  glanced  across  at  Jacqueline 
who  stood  in  the  embrasure  of  a  window,  a  billiard 
cue  resting  across  her  shoulders. 

"Please  invent  something  for  us,  Miss  Nevers,"  he 
said. 

"Why  don't  you  play  hide  and  seek?"  sneered  Mrs. 
Hammerton,  busily  knitting  a  tie.  "It's  suited  to  your 
intellects." 

"Let  Miss  Nevers  suggest  a  new  way  of  playing 
the  oldest  game  ever  invented,"  added  Betty 
Barkley.  "There  is  no  possibility  of  inventing  any 
thing  new;  everything  was  first  done  in  the  year  one. 

236 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Even  protoplasmic  cells  played  hide-and-seek  to 
gether." 

"What  rot !"  said  Reggie.  "You  can't  play  that  in 
a  new  way." 

"You  could  play  it  in  a  sporting  way,"  said  Cairns. 

"How's  that,  old  top?" 

"Well,  for  example,  you  conceal  yourself,  and  what 
ever  girl  finds  you  has  got  to  marry  you.  How's  that 
for  a  reckless  suggestion?" 

But  it  had  given  Reggie  something  resembling  an 
idea. 

"Let  us  be  hot  sports,"  he  said,  with  animation ; 
"draw  lots  to  see  which  girl  will  hide  somewhere  in  the 
house;  make  a  time-limit  of  one  hour;  and  if  any  man 
finds  her  she'll  marry  him.  There  isn't  a  girl  here," 
he  added,  jeeringly,  "who  has  the  sporting  nerve  to 
try  it!" 

A  chorus  of  protests  greeted  the  challenge.  Athalie 
Vannis  declared  that  she  was  crazy  to  marry  some 
body;  but  she  insisted  that  the  men  would  only  pre 
tend  to  search,  and  were  really  too  cowardly  to  hunt 
in  earnest.  Cairns  retorted  that  the  girl  in  conceal 
ment  would  never  permit  a  real  live  man  to  miss  her 
hiding  place  while  she  possessed  lungs  to  reveal  it. 

"There  isn't,"  repeated  Reggie,  "a  girl  who  has  the 
nerve!  Not  one!"  He  inspected  them  scornfully 
through  the  wrong  end  of  the  megaphone.  "Phony 
sports,"  he  added.  "No  nerves  and  all  fidgets.  Look 
at  me;  /  don't  want  to  get  married;  but  I'm  game  for 
an  hour.  There  isn't  a  girl  here  to  call  my  bluff !"  And 
he  ventured  to  glance  at  Jacqueline. 

"They've  had  a  chance  to  look  at  you  by  daylight, 
Reggie,  and  that  is  fatal,"  said  Cairns.  "Now,  if  they 

237 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

were  only  sure  that  I'd  discover  'em,  or  the  god-like 
captain  yonder,  or  the  beautiful  Mr.  DesboroJ " 

"I've  half  a  mind  to  do  it,"  said  Helsa  Steyr.  "Ma 
rie,  will  you  draw  lots  to  see  who  hides  ?" 

"Why  doesn't  a  man  hide?"  drawled  Miss  Ledyard. 
"I'm  very  sure  I  could  drag  him  to  the  altar  in  ten 
minutes." 

Cairns  had  found  a  sheet  of  paper,  torn  it  into  slips, 
and  written  down  every  woman's  name,  including  Aunt 
Hannah's. 

"She's  retired  to  her  room  in  disgust,"  said  Jacque 
line,  laughing. 

"Is  she  included?"  faltered  Reggie. 

"You've  brought  it  on  yourself,"  said  Cairns.  "Are 
you  going  to  renig  just  because  Aunt  Hannah  is  a 
possible  prize?  Are  you  really  a  tin  sport?" 

"No,  by  heck!  Come  on,  Katharine !"  to  Miss  Frere. 
"But  Betty  Barkley  can't  figure  in  this,  or  there  may 
be  bigamy  done." 

"That  makes  it  a  better  sporting  proposition,"  said 
Betty  coolly.  "I  insist  on  figuring;  Bertie  can  take 
his  chances." 

"Then  I'm  jingled  if  I  don't  play,  too,"  said  Barkley. 
"And  I'm  not  sure  I'll  hunt  very  hard  if  it's  Betty  who 
hides." 

The  pretty  little  woman  turned  up  her  nose  at  her 
husband  and  sent  a  dazzling  smile  at  Desboro. 

"I'll  whistle  three  times,  like  the  daughter  in  the 
poem,"  she  said.  "Please  beat  my  husband  to  it." 

Cairns  waved  the  pool  basket  aloft :  "Come  ladies  !" 
he  cried.  "Somebody  reach  up  and  draw;  and  may 
heaven  smile  upon  your  wedding  day!" 

Betty    Barkley,    standing    on    tip-toe,    reached    up, 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

stirred  the  folded  ballots  with  tentative  fingers,  grasped 
one,  drew  it  forth,  and  flourished  it. 

"Goodness !  How  my  heart  really  beats !"  she  said. 
"I  don't  know  whether  I  want  to  open  it  or  not.  I 
hadn't  contemplated  bigamy." 

"If  it's  my  name,  I'm  done  for,"  said  Katharine 
Frere  calmly.  "I'm  nearly  six  feet,  and  I  can't  conceal 
them  all." 

"Open  it,"  said  Athalie  Vannis,  with  a  shiver.  "After 
all  there's  the  divorce  court !"  And  she  looked  defiantly 
at  Cairns. 

Betty  turned  over  the  ballot  between  forefinger  and 
thumb  and  regarded  it  with  dainty  aversion. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "if  I'm  in  for  a  scandal,  I  might 
as  well  know  it.  Will  you  be  kind  to  me,  Jim,  and  not 
flirt  with  my  maid?" 

She  opened  the  ballot,  examined  the  name  written 
there,  turned  and  passed  it  to  Jacqueline,  who  flushed 
brightly  as  a  delighted  shout  greeted  her. 

"The  question  is,"  said  Reggie  Ledyard  excitedly, 
"are  you  a  sport,  Miss  Nevers,  or  are  you  not  ?  Kindly 
answer  with  appropriate  gestures." 

The  girl  stood  with  her  golden  head  drooping,  star 
ing  at  the  bit  of  paper  in  her  hand ;  then,  as  Desboro 
watched  her,  she  glanced  up  with  that  sudden,  reckless 
smile  which  he  had  seen  once  before — the  first  day  he 
met  her — and  made  a  gay  little  gesture  of  acceptance. 

"You're  not  really  going  to  do  it,  are  you?"  said 
Betty,  incredulously.  "You  don't  have  to ;  they're 
every  one  of  them  short  sports  themselves !" 

"/  am  not,"  said  Jacqueline,  smiling. 

"But,"  argued  Katharine  Frere,  "suppose  Reggie 
should  find  you.  You'd  never  marry  him,  would  you?" 

239 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Great  Heavens !"  shouted  Ledyard.  "She  might 
have  a  worse  fate.  There's  Desboro!" 

"You  don't  really  mean  it,  do  you,  Miss  Nevers?" 
asked  Captain  Herrendene. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Jacqueline.  "I  always  was  a  gam 
bler  by  nature." 

The  tint  of  excitement  was  bright  on  her  cheeks ; 
she  shot  a  daring  glance  at  Ledyard,  looked  at  Van 
Alstyne  and  laughed,  but  her  back  remained  turned 
toward  Desboro. 

He  said :  "If  the  papers  ever  get  wind  of  this  they'll 
print  it  as  a  serious  item." 

"I  am  perfectly  serious,"  she  said,  looking  coolly  at 
him  over  her  shoulder.  "If  there  is  a  man  here  clever 
enough  to  find  me,  I'll  marry  him  in  a  minute.  But" — 
and  she  laughed  in  Desboro's  face — "there  isn't.  So 
nobody  need  really  lose  one  moment  in  anxiety.  And  if 
a  girl  finds  me  it's  all  off,  of  course.  May  I  have 
twenty  minutes?  And  will  you  time  me,  Mr.  Ledyard? 
And  will  you  all  remain  in  this  room  with  the  door 
closed?" 

"If  nobody  finds  you,"  cried  Cairns,  as  she  crossed 
the  threshold,  "we  each  forfeit  whatever  you  ask  of 
us?" 

She  paused  at  the  door,  looking  back:  "Is  that 
understood?" 

Everybody  cried:     "Yes!     Certainly!" 

She  nodded  and  disappeared. 

For  twenty  minutes  they  waited;  then,  as  Reggie 
closed  his  watch,  a  general  stampede  ensued.  Amazed 
servants  shrank  aside  as  Cairns,  blowing  fearful  blasts 
on  the  megaphone,  cheered  on  the  excited  human  pack ; 
everywhere  Desboro's  cats  and  dogs  fled  before  the  in- 

240 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

vasion;  room  after  room  was  ransacked,  maids  routed, 
butler  and  valet  defied.  Even  Aunt  Hannah's  sanc 
tuary  was  menaced  until  that  lady  sat  up  on  her  bed 
and  swore  steadily  at  Ledyard,  who  had  scaled  the  tran 
som. 

Desboro,  hunting  by  himself,  entered  the  armoury, 
looked  suspiciously  at  the  armoured  figures,  shook  a 
few,  opened  the  vizors  of  others,  and  peered  at  the 
painted  faces  inside  the  helmets. 

Others  joined  him,  prying  curiously,  gathering  in 
groups  amid  the  motionless  army  of  mailed  men.  Then, 
as  more  than  half  of  the  allotted  hour  had  already  ex 
pired,  Ledyard  suggested  an  attic  party,  where  trunks 
full  of  early  XlXth  century  clothing  might  be  rifled 
with  pleasing  results. 

"We  may  find  her  up  there  in  a  chest,  like  the  cele 
brated  bride,"  remarked  Aunt  Hannah,  who  had  reap 
peared  from  her  retreat.  "It's  the  lesser  of  several 
tragedies  that  might  happen,"  she  added  insolently, 
to  Desboro. 

"To  the  attic!"  thundered  Cairns  through  his  mega 
phone  ;  and  they  started. 

But  Desboro  still  lingered  at  the  armoury  door,  look 
ing  back.  The  noise  of  the  chase  died  away  in  the  in 
terior  of  the  main  house ;  the  armoury  became  very  still 
under  the  flood  of  pale  winter  sunshine. 

He  glanced  along  the  steel  ranks  of  men-at-arms ; 
he  looked  up  at  the  stately  mounted  figures;  dazzling 
sunlight  glittered  over  helmet  and  cuirass  and  across 
the  armoured  flanks  of  horses. 

Could  it  be  possible  that  she  was  seated  up  there,  hid 
den  inside  some  suit  of  blazing  mail,  astride  a  battle- 
horse  ? 

24,1 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Cautiously  he  came  back,  skirting  the  magnificent 
and  motionless  ranks,  hesitated  and  halted. 

Of  course  the  whole  thing  had  been  proposed  and  ac 
cepted  in  jest;  he  told  himself  that.  And  yet — if  some 
other  man  did  discover  her — the  foundation  of  the  jest 
might  serve  for  a  more  permanent  understanding.  He 
didn't  want  her  to  have  any  intimate  understanding 
with  anybody  until  he  and  she  understood  each  other, 
and  he  understood  himself. 

He  didn't  want  another  man  to  find  and  claim  the  for 
feit,  even  in  jest,  because  he  didn't  know  what  might 
happen.  No  man  was  ever  qualified  to  foretell  what 
another  man  might  do;  and  men  already  were  behav 
ing  toward  her  with  a  persistency  and  seriousness  unmis 
takable — men  like  Herrendene,  who  meant  what  he 
looked  and  said;  and  young  Hammerton,  Daisy's 
brother,  eager,  inexperienced  and  susceptible ;  and  Ber 
tie  Barkley,  a  little,  hard-faced  snob,  with  an  unerring 
instinct  for  anybody  who  promised  to  be  popular  among 
desirable  people,  was  beginning  to  test  her  metal  with 
the  acid  of  his  experience. 

Desboro  stood  quite  still,  looking  almost  warily  about 
him  and  thinking  faster  and  faster,  trying  to  recollect 
who  it  was  who  had  dragged  in  the  silly  subject  of  mar 
riage.  That  blond  and  hulking  ass  Ledyard,  wasn't  it? 

He  began  to  walk,  slowly  passing  the  horsemen  in 
review. 

Suppose  a  blond  animal  like  Reggie  Ledyard  of 
fered  himself  in  earnest.  Was  she  the  kind  of  girl  who 
would  nail  the  worldly  opportunity?  And  Herrendene 
• — that  quiet,  self-contained,  keen-eyed  man  of  forty- 
five.  You  could  never  tell  what  Herrendene  was  think 
ing  about  anything,  or  what  he  was  capable  of  doing. 

242 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

And  his  admiration  for  Jacqueline  was  undisguised, 
and  his  attentions  frankly  persistent.  Last  night,  too, 
when  they  were  coasting  under  the  new  moon,  there  was 
half  an  hour's  disappearance  for  which  neither  Her- 
rendene  nor  Jacqueline  had  even  pretended  to  account, 
though  bantered  and  challenged — to  Desboro's  vague 
discomfort.  And  the  incident  had  left  Desboro  a  trifle 
cool  toward  her  that  morning;  and  she  had  pretended 
not  to  be  aware  of  the  slight  constraint  between  them, 
which  made  him  sulky. 

He  had  reached  the  end  of  the  double  lane  of  horse 
men.  Now  he  pivoted  and  retraced  his  steps,  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back,  absently  scanning  the  men-at- 
arms,  preoccupied  with  his  own  reflections. 

How  seriously  had  she  taken  the  role  she  was  playing 
somewhere  at  that  moment  ?  Only  fools  accepted  actual 
hazards  when  dared.  He  himself  was  apt  to  be  that 
kind  of  a  fool.  Was  she?  Would  she  really  have 
abided  by  the  terms  if  discovered  by  Herrendene,  for 
example,  or  Dicky  Hammerton — if  they  were  mad 
enough  to  take  it  seriously? 

He  thought  of  that  sudden  and  delicious  flash  of 
recklessness  in  her  eyes.  He  had  seen  it  twice  now. 

"By  God !"  he  thought.  "I  believe  she  would !  She 
is  the  sort  that  sees  a  thing  through  to  the  bitter  end." 

He  glanced  up,  startled,  as  though  something,  some 
where  in  the  vast,  silent  place,  had  moved.  But  he 
heard  nothing,  and  there  was  no  movement  anywhere 
among  the  armoured  effigies. 

Suppose  she  were  here  hidden  somewhere  within  a 
hollow  suit  of  steel.  She  must  be!  Else  why  was  he 
lingering?  Why  was  he  not  hunting  her  with  the  pack? 

243 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

And  still,  if  she  actually  were  here,  why  was  he  not 
searching  for  her  under  every  suit  of  sunlit  mail? 
Could  it  be  because  he  did  not  really  want  to  find  her — 
with  this  silly  jest  of  marriage  dragged  in — a  thing  not 
to  be  mentioned  between  her  and  him  even  in  jest? 

Was  it  that  he  had  become  convinced  in  his  heart 
that  she  must  be  here,  and  was  he  merely  standing 
guard  like  a  jealous,  sullen  dog,  watching  lest  some 
other  fool  come  blundering  back  from  a  false  trail  to 
discover  the  right  one — and  perhaps  her? 

Suddenly,  without  reason,  he  became  certain  that  she 
and  he  were  there  in  the  armoury  alone  together.  He 
knew  it  somehow,  felt  it,  divined  it  in  every  quickening 
pulse  beat. 

He  heard  the  preliminary  click  of  the  armoury  clock, 
indicating  five  minutes'  grace  before  the  hour  struck. 
He  looked  up  at  the  old  dial,  where  it  was  set  against 
the  wall — an  ancient  piece  in  azure  and  gold  under  a 
foliated  crest  borne  by  some  long  dead  dignitary. 

Four  more  minutes  now.  And  suppose  she  should 
stir  in  her  place,  setting  her  harness  clashing?  Had 
the  thought  of  marrying  him  ever  entered  her  head? 
Was  it  in  such  a  girl  to  challenge  the  possibility,  make 
it  as  near  a  serious  question  as  it  ever  could  be?  It 
had  never  existed  for  them,  even  as  a  question.  It  was 
not  a  dead  issue,  because  it  had  never  lived.  If  she 
made  one  movement  now,  if  she  so  much  as  lifted  her 
finger,  this  occult  thing  would  be  alive.  He  knew  it — 
knew  that  it  lay  with  her;  and  stood  silent,  unstirring, 
listening  for  the  slightest  sound.  There  was  no  sound. 

It  lacked  now  only  a  minute  to  the  hour.  He  looked 
at  the  face  of  the  lofty  clock;  and,  looking,  all  in  a 
moment  it  flashed  upon  him  where  she  was  concealed. 

244, 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Wheeling  in  his  tracks,  on  the  impulse  of  the  mo 
ment  he  walked  straight  back  to  the  great  painted 
wooden  charger,  sheathed  in  steel  and  cloth  of  gold, 
bearing  on  high  a  slender,  mounted  figure  in  full  ar 
mour — the  dainty  Milanese  mail  of  the  Countess  of 
Oroposa. 

The  superb  young  figure  sat  its  saddle,  hollow 
backed,  graceful,  both  delicate  gauntlets  resting  easily 
over  the  war-bridle  on  the  gem-set  pommel.  Sunbeams 
turned  the  long  spurs  to  two  golden  flames,  and  splin 
tered  into  fire  across  the  helmet's  splendid  crest.  He 
could  not  pierce  the  dusk  behind  the  closed  vizor;  but 
in  every  heart-beat,  every  nerve,  he  felt  her  living  pres 
ence  within  that  hollow  shell  of  inlaid  steel  and  gold. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  staring  up  at  her,  then 
glanced  mechanically  toward  the  high  clock.  Thirty 
seconds!  Time  to  speak  if  he  would;  time  for  her  to 
move,  if  in  her  heart  there  ever  had  been  the  thought 
which  he  had  never  uttered,  never  meant  to  voice. 
Twenty  seconds !  Through  that  slitted  vizor,  also,  the 
clock  was  in  full  view.  She  could  read  the  flight  of 
time  as  well  as  he.  Now  she  must  move — if  ever  she 
meant  to  challenge  in  him  that  to  which  he  never  would 
respond. 

He  waited  now,  looking  at  the  clock,  now  at  the  still 
figure  above  him.  Ten  seconds  !  Five ! 

"Jacqueline !"  he  cried  impulsively. 

There  was  no  movement,  no  answer  from  the  slitted 
helmet. 

"Jacqueline!     Are  you  there?" 

No  sound. 

Then  the  lofty  gold  and  azure  clock  struck.  And 
when  the  last  of  the  twelve  resounding  strokes  rang 

245 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

echoing  through  the  sunlit  armoury,  the  mailed  figure 
stirred  in  its  saddle,  stretched  both  stirrups,  raised  its 
arms  and  flexed  them. 

"You  nearly  caught  me,"  she  said  calmly.  "I  was 
afraid  you'd  see  my  eyes  through  the  helmet  slits.  Was 
it  your  lack  of  enterprise  that  saved  me — or  your 
prudence?" 

"I  spoke  to  you  before  the  hour  was  up.  It  seems 
to  me  that  I  have  won." 

"Not  at  all.  You  might  just  as  well  have  stood  in 
the  cellar  and  howled  my  name.  That  isn't  discovering 
me,  you  know." 

"I  felt  in  my  heart  that  you  were  there,"  he  said,  in 
a  low  voice. 

She  laughed.  "What  a  man  feels  in  his  heart  doesn't 
count.  Do  you  realise  that  I'm  nearly  dead  sit 
ting  for  an  hour  here?  This  helmet  is  abominably  hot! 
How  in  the  world  could  that  poor  countess  have  stood 
it?" 

"Shall  I  climb  up  beside  you  and  unlace  your  hel 
met?"  he  asked. 

"No,  thank  you.  Mrs.  Quant  will  get  me  out  of  it." 
She  rose  in  the  stirrups,  swung  one  steel-shod  leg  over, 
and  leaped  to  the  floor  beside  him,  clashing  from  crest 
to  spur. 

"What  a  silly  game  it  was,  anyway !"  she  commented, 
lifting  her  vizor  and  lowering  the  beaver.  Her  face 
was  deliciously  flushed,  and  the  gold  hair  straggled 
across  her  cheeks. 

"It's  quite  wonderful  how  the  armour  of  the  countess 
fits  me,"  she  said.  "I  wonder  what  she  looked  like.  I'll 
wager,  anyway,  that  she  never  played  as  risky  a  game 
in  her  armour  as  I  have  played  this  morning." 

246 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"You  didn't  really  mean  to  abide  by  the  decision,  did 
you?"  he  asked. 

"Do  you  think  I  did?" 

"No,  of  course  not." 

She  smiled.  "Perhaps  you  are  correct.  But  I've 
always  been  afraid  I'd  do  something  radical  and  irre 
vocable,  and  live  out  life  in  misery  to  pay  for  it.  Prob 
ably  I  wouldn't.  I  must  take  off  these  gauntlets,  any 
way.  Thank  you" — as  he  relieved  her  of  them  and 
tossed  them  under  the  feet  of  the  wooden  horse. 

"Last  Thursday,"  he  said,  "you  fascinated  every 
body  with  your  lute  and  your  Chinese  robes.  Heaven 
help  the  men  when  they  see  you  in  armour !  I'll  perform 
my  act  of  fealty  now."  And  he  lifted  her  hands  and 
kissed  them  lightly  where  the  gauntlets  had  left  pink 
imprints  on  the  smooth  white  skin. 

As  always  when  he  touched  her,  she  became  silent; 
and,  as  always,  he  seemed  to  divine  the  instant  change 
in  her  to  unresponsiveness  under  physical  contact.  It 
was  not  resistance,  it  was  a  sort  of  inertia — an  en 
durance  which  seemed  to  stir  in  him  a  subtle  brutality, 
awaking  depths  which  must  not  be  troubled — unless  he 
meant  to  cut  his  cables  once  for  all  and  drift  headlong 
toward  the  rocks  of  chance. 

"You  and  Herrendene  behaved  shockingly  last  night," 
he  said  lightly.  "Where  on  earth  did  you  go?" 

"Is  it  to  you  that  I  must  whisper  *je  m'accuse'?"  she 
asked  smilingly. 

"To  whom  if  not  to  me,  Jacqueline?" 

"Please — and  what  exactly  then  may  be  your  status? 
Don't  answer,"  she  added,  flushing  scarlet.  "I  didn't 
mean  to  say  that.  Because  I  know  what  is  your  status 
with  me." 

247 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"You  once  made  it  clear  to  me,  and  I  decided  that 
your  friendship  was  worth  eyerything  to  me — whatever 
you  yourself  might  be." 

"Whatever  /  might  be?"  he  repeated,  reddening. 

"Yes.  You  are  what  you  are — what  you  wrote  me 
you  were.  I  understood  you.  But — do  you  notice  that 
it  has  made  any  difference  in  my  friendship?  Because 
it  has  not." 

The  dull  colour  deepened  over  his  face.  They  were 
standing  near  the  closed  door  now;  she  laid  one  hand 
on  the  knob,  then  ventured  to  raise  her  eyes. 

"It  has  made  no  difference,"  she  repeated.  "Please 
don't  think  it  has." 

His  arms  had  imprisoned  her  waist;  she  dropped 
her  head  and  her  hand  slipped  from  the  knob  of  the 
great  oak  door  as  he  drew  her  toward  him. 

"In  armour!"  she  protested,  trying  to  speak  lightly, 
but  avoiding  his  eyes. 

"Is  that  anything  new?"  he  said.  "You  are  always 
instantly  in  armour  when  my  lightest  touch  falls  on 
you.  Why?" 

He  lifted  her  drooping  head  until  it  rested  against 
his  arm. 

"Isn't  it  anything  at  all  to  you  when  I  kiss  you?" 
he  asked  unsteadily. 

She  did  not  answer. 

"Isn't  it,  Jacqueline?" 

But  she  only  closed  her  eyes,  and  her  lips  remained 
coldly  unresponsive  to  his. 

After  a  moment  he  said :  "Can't  you  care  for  me  at 
all — in  this  way?  Answer  me!" 

"I — care  for  you." 

248 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"This  way?" 

Over  her  closed  lids  a  tremor  passed,  scarcely  per 
ceptible. 

"Don't  you  know  how — how  deeply  I — care  for  you?" 
he  managed  to  say,  feeling  prudence  and  discretion  vio 
lently  tugging  at  their  cables.  "Don't  you  know  it, 
Jacqueline?" 

"Yes.     I  know  you — care  for  me." 

"Good  God!"  he  said,  trying  to  choke  back  the  very 
words  he  uttered.  "Can't  you  respond — when  you 
know  I  find  you  so  adorable!  When — when  you  must 
know  that  I  love  you!  Isn't  there  anything  in  you 
to  respond?" 

"I — care  for  you.  If  I  did  not,  could  I  endure — 
what  you  do?" 

A  sort  of  blind  passion  seized  and  possessed  him ; 
he  kissed  again  and  again  the  fragrant,  unrespon 
sive  lips.  Presently  she  lifted  her  head,  loosened 
his  clasp  at  her  waist,  stepped  clear  of  the  circle  of 
his  arms. 

"You  see,"  she  managed  to  say  calmly,  "that  I  do 
care  for  you.  So — may  I  go  now?" 

He  opened  the  door  for  her  and  they  moved  slowly 
out  into  the  hall. 

"You  do  not  show  that  you  care  very  much,  Jacque 
line." 

"How  can  a  girl  show  it  more  honestly?  Could  you 
tell  me?" 

"I  have  never  stirred  you  to  any  tenderness — never !" 

She  moved  beside  him  with  head  lowered,  hands 
resting  on  her  plated  hips,  the  bright  hair  in 
disorder  across  her  cheeks.  Presently  she  said  in  a 

low  voice : 

« 

249 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"I  wish  you  could  see  into  my  heart." 

"I  wish  I  could !  And  I  wish  you  could  see  into 
mine.  That  would  settle  it  one  way  or  another !" 

"No,"  she  said,  "because  I  can  see  into  your  heart. 
And  it  settles  nothing  for  me — except  that  I  would 


"Remain?     Where?" 
"There — in  your  heart.' 


He  strove  to  speak  coolly:  "Then  you  can  see  into 
it?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  know  that  you  are  there  alone?" 

"Yes— I  think  so." 

"And  now  that  you  have  looked  into  it  and  know 
what  is  there,  do  you  care  to  remain  in  the  heart  of — 
of  such  a  man  as  I  am?" 

"Yes.     What  you  are  I — forgive." 

An  outburst  of  merriment  .came  from  the  library,  and 
several  figures  clad  in  the  finery  of  the  early  nineteenth 
century  came  bustling  out  into  the  hall. 

Evidently  his  guests  had  rifled  the  chests  and  trunks 
in  the  attic  and  had  attired  themselves  to  their  heart's 
content.  At  sight  of  Desboro  approaching  accom 
panied  by  a  slim  figure  in  complete  armour,  they  set 
up  a  shout  of  apprehension  and  then  cheer  after  cheer 
rang  through  the  hallway. 

"Do  you  know,"  cried  Betty  Barkley,  "you  are  the 
most  darling  thing  in  armour  that  ever  happened!  I 
want  to  get  into  some  steel  trousers  like  yours  immedi 
ately !  Are  there  any  in  the  armoury  that  will  fit  me, 
Jim?" 

"Did  you  discover  her?"  demanded  Reggie  Ledyard, 
aghast. 

250 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Not  within  the  time  limit,  old  chap,"  said  Desboro, 
pretending  deep  chagrin. 

"Then  you  don't  have  to  marry  him,  do  you,  Miss 
Nevers?"  exclaimed  Cairns,  gleefully. 

"I  don't  have  to  marry  anybody,  Mr.  Cairns.  And 
isn't  it  humiliating?"  she  returned,  laughingly,  edging 
her  way  toward  the  stairs  amid  the  noisy  and  admiring 
group  surrounding  her. 

"No!  No!"  cried  Katharine  Frere.  "You  can't  es 
cape!  You  are  too  lovely  that  way,  and  you  certainly 
must  come  to  lunch  in  your  armour !" 

"I'd  perish !"  protested  Jacqueline.  "No  Christian 
martyr  was  ever  more  absolutely  cooked  than  am  I  in 
this  suit  of  mail." 

Helsa  Steyr  started  for  her,  but  Jacqueline  sprang 
to  the  stairs  and  ran  up,  pursued  by  Helsa  and 
Betty. 

"Isn't  she  the  cunningest,  sweetest  thing!"  sighed 
Athalie  Vannis,  looking  after  her.  "I'm  simply  and 
sentimentally  mad  over  her.  Why  didn't  you  have 
brains  enough  to  discover  her,  Jim,  and  make  her 
marry  you?" 

"I'd  have  knocked  'em  out  if  he  had  had  enough 
brains  for  that,"  muttered  Ledyard.  "But  the  horrible 
thing  is  that  I  haven't  any  brains,  either,  and  Miss 
Nevers  has  nothing  but!" 

"A  girl  like  that  marries  diplomats  and  dukes,  and 
discoverers  and  artists  and  things,"  commented  Betty. 
"You're  just  a  good-looking  simp,  Reggie.  So  is  Jim." 

Ledyard  retorted  wrathfully;  Desboro,  who  had  been 
summoned  to  the  telephone,  glanced  at  Aunt  Hannah  as 
he  walked  away,  and  was  rather  disturbed  at  the  malice 
in  the  old  lady's  menacing  smile. 

253 


THE  BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

But  what  Daisy  Hammerton  said  to  him  over  the 
telephone  disturbed  him  still  more. 

"Jim !  Elena  and  Gary  Clydesdale  are  stopping  with 
us.  May  I  bring  them  to  dinner  this  evening?" 

For  a  moment  he  was  at  a  loss,  then  he  said,  with 
forced  cordiality: 

"Why,  of  course,  Daisy.  But  have  you  spoken  to 
them  about  it?  I've  an  idea  that  they  might  find  my 
party  a  bore." 

"Oh,  no !  Elena  wished  me  to  ask  you  to  invite  them. 
And  Gary  was  listening." 

"Did  he  care  to  come?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"He  grinned.  He  always  does  what  Elena  asks  him 
to  do." 

"Oh !     Then  bring  them  by  all  means." 

"Thank  you,  Jim." 

And  that  was  all ;  and  Desboro,  astonished  and  trou 
bled  for  a  few  moments,  began  to  see  in  the  incident 
not  only  the  dawn  of  an  understanding  between  Clydes 
dale  and  his  wife,  but  something  resembling  a  vindica 
tion  for  himself  in  this  offer  to  renew  a  friendship  so 
abruptly  terminated.  More  than  that,  he  saw  in  it  a 
return  of  Elena  to  her  senses,  and  it  pleased  him  so 
much  that  when  he  passed  Aunt  Hannah  in  the  hall  he 
was  almost  smiling. 

"What  pleases  you  so  thoroughly,  James — your 
self?"  she  asked  grimly. 

But  he  only  smiled  at  her  and  sauntered  on,  ex 
changing  friendly  body-blows  with  Reggie  Ledyard  as 
he  passed. 

"Reggie,"  said  Mrs.  Hammerton,  with  misleading 
254, 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

mildness,  "come  and  exercise  me  for  a  few  mo 
ments — there's  a  dear."  And  she  linked  arms  with 
him  and  began  to  march  up  and  down  the  hall  vigor 
ously. 

"She's  very  charming,  isn't  she?"  observed  Aunt 
Hannah  blandly. 

"Who?" 

"Miss  Nevers." 

"She's  a  dream,"  said  Reggie,  with  emphasis. 

"Such  a  thoroughbred  air,"  commented  the  old  lady. 

"Rather!" 

"And  yet — she's  only  a  shop-keeper." 

"Eh?" 

"Didn't  you  know  that  Miss  Nevers  keeps  an  an 
tique  shop?" 

"What  of  it?"  he  said,  turning  red.  "I  peddle 
stocks.  My  grandfather  made  snuff.  What  do  I  care 
what  Miss  Nevers  does?" 

"Of  course.     Only — would  you  marry  her?" 

"Huh!  Like  a  shot!  But  I  see  her  letting  me! 
Once  I  was  even  ass  enough  to  think  I  could  kiss  her, 
but  it  seems  she  won't  even  stand  for  that!  And  Her- 
rendene  makes  me  sick — the  old  owl — sneaking  off  with 
her  whenever  he  can  get  the  chance!  They  all  make 
me  sick!"  he  added,  lighting  a  cigarette.  "I  wish  to 
goodness  I  had  a  teaspoonful  of  intellect,  and  I'd  give 
'em  a  run  for  her.  Because  I  have  the  looks,  if  I  do 
say  it,"  he  added,  modestly. 

"Looks  never  counted  seriously  with  a  woman  yet," 
said  Mrs.  Hammerton  maliciously.  "Also,  I've  seen 
better  looking  coachmen  than  you." 

"Thanks.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  her  any 
way?" 

255 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"I  don't  have  to  do  anything.  She'll  do  whatever 
is  necessary." 

"That's  right,  too.  Lord,  but  she'll  cut  a  swathe ! 
Even  that  dissipated  creature  Cairns  sits  up  and  takes 
notice.  I  should  think  Desboro  would,  too — more  than 
he  does." 

"I  understand  there's  a  girl  in  blue,  somewhere,"  ob 
served  Mrs.  Hammerton. 

"That's  a  different  kind  of  girl,"  said  the  young 
man,  with  contempt,  and  quite  oblivious  to  his  own 
naive  self -revelation.  Mrs.  Hammerton  shrugged  her 
trim  shoulders. 

"Also,"  he  said,  "there  is  Elena  Clydesdale — speak 
ing  of  scandal  and  James  Desboro  in  the  same 
breath." 

"Do  you  believe  that  story?" 

"Yes.  But  that  sort  of  affair  never  counts  seriously 
with  a  man  who  wants  to  marry." 

"Really?  How  charming!  But  perhaps  it  might 
count  against  him  with  the  girl  he  wants  to  marry. 
Young  girls  are  sometimes  fastidious,  you  kno\^" 

"They  never  hear  about  such  things  until  somebody 
tells  'em,  after  they're  married.  Then  it's  rather  too 
late  to  throw  any  pre-nuptial  fits,"  he  added,  with  a 
grin. 

"Reginald,"  said  Mrs.  Hammerton,  "day  by  day  I  am 
humbly  learning  how  to  appreciate  the  innate  delicacy, 
chivalry,  and  honourable  sentiments  of  your  sex.  You 
yourself  are  a  wonderful  example.  For  instance,  when 
rumour  couples  Elena  Clydesdale's  name  with  James 
Desboro's,  does  it  occur  to  you  to-  question  the  scan 
dal?  No;  you  take  it  for  granted,  and  very  kindly 
explain  to  me  how  easily  Mrs.  Clydesdale  can  be  thrown 

256 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

over  if  her  alleged  lover  decides  he'd  like  to  marry 
somebody." 

"That's  what's  done,"  he  said  sulkily.  "When  a 
man " 

"You  don't  have  to  tell  me!"  she  fairly  hissed,  turn 
ing  on  him  so  suddenly  that  he  almost  fell  backward. 
"Don't  you  think  I  know  what  is  the  code  among  your 
sort — among  the  species  of  men  you  find  sympathetic? 
You  and  Jack  Cairns  and  James  Desboro — and  Gary 
Clydesdale,  too?  Let  him  reproach  himself  if  his  wife 
misbehaves!  And  I  don't  blame  her  if  she  does,  and 
I  don't  believe  she  does !  Do  you  hear  me,  you  yellow- 
haired,  blue-eyed  little  beast?" 

Ledyard  stood  open-mouthed,  red  to  the  roots  of  his 
blond  hair,  and  the  tiny,  baleful  black  eyes  of  Mrs. 
Hammerton  seemed  to  hypnotise  him. 

"You're  all  alike,"  she  said  with  withering  contempt. 
"Real  men  are  out  in  the  world,  doing  things,  not  crawl 
ing  around  over  the  carpet  under  foot,  or  sitting  in 
clubs,  or  dancing  with  a  pack  of  women,  or  idling  from 
polo  field  to  tennis  court,  from  stable  to  steam-yacht. 
You've  no  real  blood  in  you ;  it's  only  Scotch  and  soda 
gone  flat.  You've  the  passions  of  overfed  lap  dogs 
with  atrophied  appetites.  There's  not  a  real  man  here 
— except  Captain  Herrendene — and  he's  going  back  to 
his  post  in  a  week.  You  others  have  no  posts.  And 
do  you  think  that  men  of  your  sort  are  fitted  to  talk 
about  marrying  such  a  girl  as  Miss  Nevers?  Let  me 
catch  one  of  you  trying  it !  She's  in  my  charge.  But 
that  doesn't  count.  She'll  recognise  a  real  man  when 
she  sees  one,  and  glittering  counterfeits  won't  attract 
her." 

"Great  heavens !"  faltered  Reggie.  "What  a  hor- 
257 


THE  BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

rible  lambasting!  I — I've  heard  you  could  do  it;  but 
this  is  going  some — really,  you  know,  it's  going  some! 
And  I'm  not  all  those  things  that  you  say,  either!"  he 
added,  in  naive  resentment.  "I  may  be  no  good,  but 
I'm  not  as  rotten  as  all  that." 

He  stood  with  lips  pursed  up  into  a  half-angry,  half- 
injured  pout,  like  a  big,  blond,  blue-eyed  yokel  facing 
school-room  punishment. 

Mrs.  Hammerton's  harsh  face  relaxed;  and  finally  a 
smile  wrinkled  her  eyes. 

"I  suppose  men  can't  help  being  what  they  are — a 
mixture  of  precocious  child  and  trained  beast.  The  best 
of  'em  have  both  of  these  in  'em.  And  you  are  far  from 
the  best.  Reggie,  come  here  to  me!" 

He  came,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  doubtfully. 

"Lord!"  she  said.  "How  we  cherish  the  worst  of 
you !  I  sometimes  think  we  don't  know  enough  to  ap 
preciate  the  best.  Otherwise,  perhaps  they'd  give  us 
more  of  their  society.  But,  generally,  all  we  draw  is 
your  sort ;  and  we  cast  our  nets  in  vain  into  the  real 
world — where  Captain  Herrendene  is  going  on  Mon 
day.  Reggie,  dear?" 

"What?"  he  said  suspiciously. 

"Was  I  severe  with  you  and  your  friends?" 

"Great  heavens !  There  isn't  another  woman  I'd  take 
such  a  drubbing  from!" 

"But  you  do  take  it,"  she  said,  with  one  of  her  rare 
and  generous  smiles  which  few  people  ever  saw,  and  of 
which  few  could  believe  her  facially  capable. 

And  she  slipped  her  arm  through  his  and  led  him 
slowly  toward  the  library  where  already  Farris  was  an 
nouncing  luncheon. 


258 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"By  heck !"  he  repeated  later,  in  the  billiard  room, 
to  a  group  of  interested  listeners.  "Aunt  Hannah  is 
all  that  they  say  she  is.  She  suddenly  let  out  into  me, 
and  I  give  y'm'word  she  had  me  over  the  ropes  in  one 
punch — tellin'  me  what  beasts  men  are — and  how  we're 
not  fit  to  associate  with  nice  girls — no  b' jinks — nor 
fit  to  marry  'em,  either." 

Cairns  laughed  unfeelingly. 

"Oh,  you  can  laugh!"  muttered  Ledyard.  "But  to 
be  lit  into  that  way  hurts  a  man's  self-respect.  You'd 
better  be  careful  or  you'll  be  in  for  a  dose  of  Aunt  Han 
nah,  too.  She  evidently  has  no  use  for  any  of  us — 
barrin'  the  Captain,  perhaps." 

That  gentleman  smiled  and  picked  up  his  hockey 
stick. 

"There's  enough  ice  left — if  you  don't  mind  a  wet 
ting,"  he  said.  "Shall  we  start?" 

Desboro  rose,  saying  carelessly:  "The  Hammertons 
and  Clydesdales  are  coming  over.  I'll  have  to  wait  for 
them." 

Bertie  Barkley  turned  his  hard  little  smooth-shaven 
face  toward  him. 

"Where  are  the  Clydesdales?" 

"I  believe  they're  stopping  with  the  Hammertons 
for  a  week  or  two — I  really  don't  know.  You  can  ask 
them,  as  they'll  be  here  to  dinner." 

Cairns  laid  aside  a  cue  with  which  he  had  been  punch 
ing  pool-balls;  Van  Alstyne  unhooked  his  skate-bag, 
and  the  others  followed  his  example  in  silence.  Nobody 
said  anything  further  about  the  Clydesdales  to  Des 
boro. 

Out  in  the  hall  a  gay  group  of  young  girls  in  their 
skating  skirts  were  gathering,  among  them  Jacqueline, 

259 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

now  under  the  spell  of  happiness  in  their  companion 
ship. 

Truly,  even  in  these  few  days,  the  "warm  sunlight 
of  approval"  had  done  wonders  for  her.  She  had  blos 
somed  out  deliciously  and  exquisitely  in  her  half-shy 
friendships  with  these  young  girls,  responding  diffi 
dently  at  first  to  their  overtures,  then  frankly  and 
with  a  charming  self-possession  based  on  the  confidence 
that  she  was  really  quite  all  right  if  everybody  only 
thought  so. 

Everybody  seemed  to  think  so;  Athalie  Vannis's 
friendship  for  her  verged  on  the  sentimental,  for  the 
young  girl  was  enraptured  at  the  idea  that  Jacqueline 
actually  earned  her  own  living.  Marie  Ledyard  lazily 
admired  and  envied  her  slight  but  exceedingly  fash 
ionable  figure;  Helsa  Steyr  passionately  adored  her; 
Katharine  Frere  was  profoundly  impressed  by  her  in 
tellectual  attainments ;  Betty  Barkley  saw  in  her  a 
social  success,  with  Aunt  Hannah  to  pilot  her — that  is, 
every  opportunity  for  wealth  or  position,  or  even  both, 
through  the  marriage  to  which,  Betty  cheerfully  con 
ceded,  her  beauty  entitled  her. 

So  everybody  of  her  own  sex  was  exceedingly  nice 
to  her;  and  the  men  already  were  only  too  anxious  to 
be.  And  what  more  could  a  young  girl  want? 

As  the  jolly  party  started  out  across  the  snow,  in 
random  and  chattering  groups  made  up  by  hazard,  Jac 
queline  turned  from  Captain  Herrendene,  with  whom 
she  found  herself  walking,  and  looked  back  at  Desboro, 
who  had  remained  standing  bareheaded  on  the  steps. 

"Aren't  you  coming?"  she  called  out  to  him,  in  her 
clear  young  voice. 

He  shook  his  head,  smiling. 

260 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 


"Please  excuse  me  a  moment,"  she  murmured  to 
Herrendene,  and  ran  back  along  the  middle  drive.  Des- 
boro  started  forward  to  meet  her  at  the  same  moment, 
and  they  met  under  the  dripping  spruces. 

"Why  aren't  you  coming  with  us?"  she  asked. 

"I  can't  very  well.  I  have  to  wait  here  for  some 
people  who  might  arrive  early." 

"You  are  going  to  remain  here  all  alone?" 

"Yes,  until  they  come.  You  see  they  are  dining  here, 
and  I  can't  let  them  arrive  and  find  the  house  empty." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  stay  with  you?  Mrs.  Hammer- 
ton  is  in  her  room,  and  it  would  be  perfectly  proper." 

He  said,  reddening  with  surprise  and  pleasure :  "It's 
very  sweet  of  you.  I — had  no  idea  you'd  offer  to  do 
such  a  thing " 

"Why  shouldn't  I?  Besides,  I'd  rather  be  where  you 
are  than  anywhere  else." 

"With  me,  Jacqueline?" 

"Are  you  really  surprised  to  hear  me  admit  it?" 

"A  little." 

"Why,  if  you  please?" 

"Because  you  never  before  have  been  demonstrative, 
even  in  speech." 

She  blushed :  "Not  as  demonstrative  as  you  are.  But 
you  know  that  I  might  learn  to  be." 

He  looked  at  her  curiously,  but  with  more  or  less 
self-control. 

"Do  you  really  care  for  me  that  way,  Jacqueline?" 

"I  know  of -no  way  in  which  I  don't  care  for  you," 
she  said  quickly. 

"Does  your  caring  for  me  amount  to — love?"  he 
asked  deliberately. 

"I— think  so— yes." 

261 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

The  emotion  in  his  face  was  now  palely  reflected  in 
hers ;  their  voices  were  no  longer  quite  steady  under  the 
sudden  strain  of  self-repression. 

"Say  it,  Jacqueline,  if  it  is  true,"  he  whispered.  His 
face  was  tense  and  white,  but  not  as  pale  as  hers.  "Say 
it !"  he  whispered  again. 

"I  can't — in  words.  But  it  is  true — what  you  asked 
me." 

"That  you  love  me?" 

"Yes.     I  thought  you  knew  it  long  ago." 

They  stood  very  still,  facing  each  other,  breathing 
more  rapidly.  Her  fate  was  upon  her,  and  she  knew  it. 

Captain  Herrendene,  who  had  waited,  watched  them 
for  a  moment  more,  then,  lighting  a  cigarette,  saun 
tered  on  carelessly,  swinging  his  hockey-stick  in  circles. 

Desboro  said  in  a  low,  distinct  voice,  and  without  a 
tremor :  "I  am  more  in  love  with  you  than  ever,  Jac 
queline.  But  that  is  as  much  as  I  shall  ever  say  to  you 
— nothing  more  than  that." 

"I  know  it." 

"Yes,  I  know  you  do.  Shall  I  leave  you  in  peace? 
It  can  still  be  done.  Or — shall  I  tell  you  again  that  I 
love  you?" 

"Yes— if  you  wish,  tell  me— that." 

"Is  love  enough  for  you,  Jacqueline?" 

"Ask  yourself,  Jim.  With  what  you  give  I  must 
be  content — or  starve." 

"Do  you  realise — what  it  means  for  us?"  He  could 
scarcely  speak  now. 

"Yes — I  know."  She  turned  and  looked  back.  Her 
rendene  was  now  a  long  way  off,  walking  slowly  and 
alone.  Then  she  turned  once  more  to  Desboro,  ab 
sently,  as  though  absorbed  in  her  own  reflections.  Her- 

262 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

rendene  had  asked  her  to  marry  him  that  morning.  She 
was  thinking  of  it  now. 

Then,  in  her  remote  gaze  the  brief  dream  faded,  her 
eyes  cleared,  and  she  looked  up  at  the  silent  man  beside 
her. 

"Shall  I  remain  here  with  you?"  she  asked. 

He  made  an  effort  to  speak,  but  his  voice  was  no 
longer  under  command.  She  waited,  watching  him  ;  then 
they  both  turned  and  slowly  entered  the  house  together. 
Her  hand  had  fallen  into  his,  and  when  they  reached 
the  library  he  lifted  it  to  his  lips  and  noticed  that  her 
fingers  were  trembling.  He  laid  his  other  hand  over 
them,  as  though  to  quiet  the  tremor;  and  looked  into 
her  face  and  saw  how  colourless  it  had  become. 

"My  darling !"  But  the  time  had  not  yet  come  when 
he  could  tolerate  his  own  words;  contempt  for  them 
choked  him  for  a  moment,  and  he  only  took  her  into  his 
arms  in  silence. 

She  strove  to  think,  to  speak,  to  master  her 
emotion;  but  for  a  moment  his  mounting  passion 
subdued  her  and  she  remained  silent,  quivering  in  his 
embrace. 

Then,  with  an  effort,  she  found  her  voice  and  loos 
ened  his  arms. 

"Listen,"  she  whispered.  "You  must  listen.  I  know 
what  you  are — how  you  love  me.  But  you  are  wrong! 
If  I  could  only  make  you  see  it !  If  you  would  not 
think  me  selfish,  self-seeking — believe  unworthv  motives 
of  me " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked,  suddenly  chilled. 

"I  mean  that  I  am  worth  more  to  you  than — than  to 
be — what  you  wish  me  to  be  to  you.  You  won't  mis 
understand,  will  you?  I  am  not  bargaining,  not  beg- 

263 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

ging,  not  trading.  I  love  you!  I  couldn't  bargain;  I 
could  only  take  your  terms — or  leave  them.  And  I 
have  not  decided.  But — may  I  say  something — for 
your  sake  more  than  for  my  own?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  coolly. 

"Then — for  your  sake — far  more  than  for  mine — if 
you  do  really  love  me — make  more  of  me  than  you  have 
thought  of  doing!  I  know  I  shall  be  worth  it  to  you. 
Could  you  consider  it?" 

After  a  terrible  silence,  he  said:  "I  can — get  out  of 
your  life — dog  that  I  am !  I  can  leave  you  in  peace. 
And  that  is  all." 

"If  that  is  all  you  can  do — don't  leave  me — in  peace. 
I — I  will  take  the  chances  of  remaining — honest " 

The  hint  of  fear  in  her  eyes  and  in  her  voice  startled 
him. 

"There  is  a  martyrdom,"  she  said,  "which  I  might 
not  be  able  to  endure  forever.  I  don't  know.  I  shall 
never  love  another  man.  And  all  my  life  I  have  wanted 
love.  It  is  here;  and  I  may  not  be  brave  enough  to 
deny  it  and  live  my  life  out  in  ignorance  of  it.  But, 
Jim,  if  you  only  could  understand — if  you  only  knew 
what  I  can  be  to  you — to  the  world  for  your  sake — 
what  I  can  become  merely  because  I  love  you — what  I 
am  capable  of  for  the  sake  of  your  pride  in — in  me — 
and "  She  turned  very  white.  "Because  it  is  bet 
ter  for  your  sake,  Jim.  I  am  not  thinking  of  myself, 
and  how  wonderful  it  would  be  for  me — truly  I  am  not. 
Don't  you  believe  me?  Only — there  is  so  much  to  me 
— I  am  really  so  much  of  a  woman — that  it  would  be 
gin  to  trouble  you  if  ever  I  became  anything — anything 
less  than  your — wife.  And  you  would  feel  sorry  for 
me — and  I  couldn't  truthfully  console  you  because  all 

264 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

the  while  I'd  know  in  my  heart  what  you  had  thrown 
away  that  might  have  belonged  to  us  both." 

"Your  life?"  he  said,  with  dry  lips. 

"Oh,  Jim!  I  mean  more  than  your  life  and  mine! 
For  our  lives — yours  and  mine — would  not  be  all  you 
would  throw  away  and  deny.  Before  we  die  we  would 
want  children.  Ought  I  not  to  say  it?"  She  turned 
away,  blind  with  tears,  and  dropped  onto  the  sofa.  "I'm 
wondering  if  I'm  in  my  right  mind,"  she  sobbed,  "for 
yesterday  I  did  not  even  dare  think  of  these  things  I 
am  saying  to  you  now !  But — somehow — even  while 
Captain  Herrendene  was  speaking — it  all  flashed  into 
my  mind.  I  don't  know  how  I  knew  it,  but  I  suddenly 
understood  that  you  belonged  to  me — just  as  you  are, 
Jim — all  the  good,  all  the  evil  in  you — everything — 
even  your  intentions  toward  me — how  you  may  deal 
with  me — all,  all  belonged  to  me !  And  so  I  went  back 
to  you,  to  help  you.  And  now  I  have  said  this  thing — 
for  your  sake  alone,  not  for  my  own — only  so  that  in 
years  to  come  you  may  not  have  me  on  your  conscience. 
For  if  you  do  not  marry  me — and  I  let  myself  really 
love  you — you  will  wish  that  the  beginning  was  to  be 
begun  again,  and  that  we  had  loved  each  other — other 
wise." 

He  came  over  and  stood  looking  down  at  her  for  a 
moment.  His  lips  were  twitching. 

"Would  you  marry  me  now,"  he  managed  to  say, 
"now,  after  you  know  what  a  contemptible  cad  I 
am?" 

"You  are  only  a  man.  I  love  you,  Jim.  I  will  marry 
you — if  you'll  let  me " 

Suddenly  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands.  He 
seated  himself  beside  her,  sick  with  self -contempt,  dumb, 

265 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

not  daring  to  touch  her  where  she  crouched,  trembling 
in  every  limb. 

For  a  long  while  they  remained  so,  in  utter  silence; 
then  the  doorbell  startled  them.  Jacqueline  fled  to  her 
room ;  Desboro  composed  himself  with  a  desperate  ef 
fort  and  went  out  into  the  hall. 

He  welcomed  his  guests  on  the  steps  when  Farris 
opened  the  door,  outwardly  master  of  himself  once  more. 

"We  came  over  early,  Jim,"  explained  Daisy,  "be 
cause  Uncle  John  is  giving  a  dinner  and  father  and 
mother  need  the  car.  Do  you  mind?" 

He  laughed  and  shook  hands  with  her  and  Elena, 
who  looked  intently  and  unsmilingly  into  his  face,  and 
then  let  her  expressionless  glance  linger  for  a  moment 
on  her  husband,  who  was  holding  out  a  huge  hand  to 
Desboro. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Clydesdale,"  said  Desboro 
pleasantly,  and  took  that  bulky  gentleman's  out 
stretched  hand,  who  mumbled  something  incoherent; 
but  the  fixed  grin  remained.  And  that  was  the  dis 
comforting — yes,  the  dismaying — characteristic  of  the 
man — his  grin  never  seemed  to  be  affected  by  his  emo 
tions. 

Mrs.  Quant  bobbed  away  upstairs,  piloting  Daisy 
and  Elena.  Clydesdale  followed  Desboro  to  the  library 
— the  same  room  where  he  had  discovered  his  wife  that 
evening,  and  had  learned  in  what  esteem  she  held  the 
law  that  bound  her  to  him.  Both  men  thought  of  it 
now — could  not  avoid  remembering  it.  Also,  by  acci 
dent,  they  were  seated  very  nearly  as  they  had  been 
seated  that  night,  Clydesdale  filling  the  armchair  with 
his  massive  figure,  Desboro  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the 
table,  one  foot  resting  on  the  floor. 

266 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Farris  brought  whiskey;  both  men  shook  their 
heads. 

"Will  you  have  a  cigar,  Clydesdale?"  asked  the 
younger  man. 

"Thanks." 

They  smoked  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  then: 

"I'm  glad  you  came,"  said  Desboro  simply. 

"Yes.  Men  don't  usually  raise  that  sort  of  hell  with 
each  other  unless  a  woman  starts  it." 

"Don't  talk  that  way  about  your  wife,"  said  Des 
boro  sharply. 

"See  here,  young  man,  I  have  no  illusions  concerning 
my  wife.  What  happened  here  was  her  doing,  not 
yours.  I  knew  it  at  the  time — if  I  didn't  admit  it. 
You  behaved  well — and  you've  behaved  well  ever  since 
— only  it  hurt  me  too  much  to  tell  you  so  before  to-day." 

"That's  all  right,  Clydesdale-^ — " 

"Yes,  it  is  going  to  be  all  right  now,  I  guess."  A 
curious  expression  flitted  across  his  red  features,  soft 
ening  the  grin  for  a  moment.  "I  always  liked  you, 
Desboro ;  and  Elena  and  I  were  staying  with  the  Ham- 
mertons,  so  she  told  that  Daisy  girl  to  ask  you  to  in 
vite  us.  That's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"Good  business !"  said  Desboro,  smiling.  "I'm  glad 
it's  all  clear  between  us." 

"Yes,  it's  clear  sailing  now,  I  guess."  Again  the 
curiously  softening  expression  made  his  heavy  red  fea 
tures  almost  attractive,  and  he  remained  silent  for  a 
while,  occupied  with  thoughts  that  seemed  to  be  pleasant 
ones. 

Then,  abruptly  emerging  from  his  revery,  he  grinned 
at  Desboro: 

"So  Mrs.  Hammerton  has  our  pretty  friend  Miss 
267 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Nevers  in  tow,"  he  said.  "Fine  girl,  Desboro.  She's 
been  at  my  collection,  you  know,  fixing  it  up  for  the 
hammer." 

"So  you  are  really  going  to  sell?"  inquired  Desboro. 

"I  don't  know.  I  was  going  to.  But  I'm  taking  a 

new  interest  in  my  hobby  since "  he  reddened,  then 

added  very  simply,  "since  Elena  and  I  have  been  get 
ting  on  better  together." 

"Sure,"  nodded  Desboro,  gravely  understanding  him. 

"Yes — it's  about  like  that,  Desboro.  Things  were 
rotten  bad  up  to  that  night.  And  afterward,  too,  for  a 
while.  They're  clearing  up  a  little  better,  I  think. 
We're  going  to  get  on  together,  I  believe.  I  don't 
know  much  about  women ;  never  liked  'em  much — except 
Elena.  It's  funny  about  Miss  Nevers,  isn't  it?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Mrs.  Hammerton's  being  so  crazy  about  her.  She's 
a  good  girl,  and  a  pretty  one.  Elena  is  wild  to  meet 
her." 

"Didn't  your  wife  ever  meet  her  at  your  house?" 
asked  Desboro  dryly. 

"When  she  was  there  appraising  my  jim-cracks? 
No.  Elena  has  no  use  for  my  gallery  or  anybody  who 
goes  into  it.  Besides,  until  this  morning  she  didn't 
even  know  that  Miss  Nevers  was  the  same  expert  you 
employed.  Now  she  wants  to  meet  her." 

Desboro  slowly  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at  Clydes 
dale.  The  unvaried  grin  baffled  him,  and  presently  he 
glanced  elsewhere. 

Clydesdale,  smoking,  slowly  crossed  one  ponderous 
leg  over  the  other.  Desboro  continued  to  gaze  out  of 
the  window.  Neither  spoke  again  until  Daisy  Ham- 
merton  came  in  with  Elena.  If  the  young  wife  remem- 

2G8 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

bered  the  somewhat  lurid  circumstances  of  her  last  ap 
pearance  in  that  room,  her  animated  and  smiling  face 
betrayed  no  indication  of  embarrassment. 

"When  is  that  gay  company  of  yours  going  to  re 
turn,  Jim?"  she  demanded.  "I  am  devoured  by  curi 
osity  to  meet  this  beautiful  Miss  Nevers.  Fancy  her 
coming  to  my  house  half  a  dozen  times  this  winter  and 
I  never  suspecting  that  my  husband's  porcelain  gallery 
concealed  such  a  combination  of  genius  and  beauty! 
I  could  have  bitten  somebody's  head  off  in  vexation," 
she  rattled  on,  "when  I  found  out  who  she  was.  So  I 
made  Daisy  ask  you  to  invite  us  to  meet  her.  Is  she 
so  unusually  wonderful,  Jim?" 

"I  believe  so,"  he  said  drily. 

"They  say  every  man  who  meets  her  falls  in  love 
with  her  immediately — and  that  most  of  the  women  do, 
too,"  appealing  to  Daisy,  who  nodded  smiling  corrobo- 
ration. 

"She  is  very  lovely  and  very  clever,  Elena.  I  think 
I  never  saw  anything  more  charming  than  that  rainbow 
dance  she  did  for  us  last  night  in  Chinese  costume," 
turning  to  Desboro,  "  'The  Rainbow  Skirt,'  I  think  it 
is  called?" 

"A  dance  some  centuries  old,"  said  Desboro,  and  let 
his  careless  glance  rest  on  Elena  for  a  moment. 

"She  looked,"  said  Daisy,  "like  some  exquisite  Chi 
nese  figure  made  of  rose-quartz,  crystal-  and  green 
jade." 

"Jade?"  said  Clydesdale,  immediately  interested. 
"That  girl  knows  jades,  I  can  tell  you.  By  gad!  The 
first  thing  she  did  when  she  walked  into  my  gallery  was 
to  saw  into  a  few  glass  ones  with  a  file ;  and  good-night 
to  about  a  thousand  dollars  in  Japanese  phony !" 

269 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"That  was  pleasant,"  said  Desboro,  laughing. 

"Wasn't  it !  And  my  rose-quartz  Feng-huang !  The 
Chia-Ching  period  of  the  Ming  dynasty !  Do  you  get 
me,  Desboro?  It  was  Jap!" 

"Really?" 

Clydesdale  brought  down  his  huge  fist  with  a  thump 
on  the  table: 

"I  wouldn't  believe  it !  I  told  Miss  Nevers  she  didn't 
know  her  business !  I  asked  her  to  consider  the  fact 
that  the  crystallisation  was  rhombohedral,  the  prisms 
six-sided,  hardness  7,  specific  gravity  2.6,  no  trace  of 
cleavage,  immune  to  the  three  acids  or  the  blow-pipe 
alone,  and  reacted  with  soda  in  the  flame.  I  thought  I 
knew  it  all,  you  see.  First  she  called  my  attention  to 
the  colour.  'Sure,'  I  said,  'it's  a  little  faded ;  but  rose- 
quartz  fades  when  exposed  to  light!'  'Yes,'  said  she, 
'but  moisture  restores  it.'  So  we  tried  it.  Nix  doing ! 
Only  a  faint  rusty  stain  becoming  visible  and  infecting 
that  delicious  rose  colour.  'Help!'  said  I.  'What  the 
devil  is  it?'  'Jap  funny  business,'  said  she.  'Your 
rose-quartz  phoenix  of  the  Ming  dynasty  is  common 
yellow  crystal  carved  in  Japan  and  dyed  that  beauti 
ful  rose  tint  with  something,  the  composition  of  which 
my  chemist  is  investigating!'  Wasn't  it  horrible,  Des 
boro?" 

Daisy's  brown  eyes  were  very  wide  open,  and  she  ex 
claimed  softly: 

"What  a  beautiful  knowledge  she  has  of  a  beautiful 
profession !"  And  to  Desboro :  "Can  you  imagine  any 
thing  in  the  world  more  fascinating  than  to  use  such 
knowledge?  And  how  in  the  world  did  she  acquire  it? 
She  is  so  very  young  to  know  so  much !" 

"Her  father  began  her  training  as  a  child,"  said 
270 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

Desboro.  There  was  a  slight  burning  sensation  in  his 
face,  and  a  hotter  pride  within  him.  After  a  second 
or  two  he  felt  Elena's  gaze ;  but  did  not  choose  to  en 
counter  it  at  the  moment,  and  was  turning  to  speak  to 
Daisy  Hammerton  when  Jacqueline  entered  the  library. 

Clydesdale  lumbered  to  his  feet  and  tramped  over 
to  shake  hands  with  her ;  Daisy  greeted  her  cordially ; 
she  and  Elena  were  presented,  and  stood  smiling  at 
each  other  for  a  second's  silence.  Then  Mrs.  Clydes 
dale  moved  a  single  step  forward,  and  Jacqueline  crossed 
to  her  and  offered  her  hand,  looking  straight  into  her 
eyes  so  frankly  and  intently  that  Elena's  colour  rose 
and  for  once  in  her  life  her  tongue  remained  silent. 

"Your  husband  and  I  are  already  business  acquain 
tances,"  said  Jacqueline.  "I  know  your  very  beauti 
ful  gallery,  too,  and  have  had  the  privilege  of  identify 
ing  and  classifying  many  of  the  jades  and  porcelains." 

Elena's  eyes  were  level  and  cool  as  she  said:  "If  I 
had  known  who  you  were  I  would  have  received  you  my 
self.  You  must  not  think  me  rude.  Mr.  Desboro's 
unnecessary  reticence  concerning  you  is  to  blame;  not 
I." 

Jacqueline's  smile  became  mechanical:  "Mr.  Des 
boro's  reticence  concerning  a  business  acquaintance  was 
very  natural.  A  busy  woman  neither  expects  nor  even 
thinks  about  social  amenities  under  business  circum 
stances." 

Elena's  flush  deepened:  "Business  is  kinder  to  men 
than  women  sometimes  believe — if  it  permits  acquaint 
ance  with  such  delightful  people  as  yourself." 

Jacqueline  said  calmly:  "All  business  has  its  com 
pensations," — she  smiled  and  made  a  friendly  little 
salute  with  her  head  to  Clydesdale  and  Desboro, — "as 

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THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

you  will  witness  for  me.  And  I  am  employed  by  other 
clients  who  also  are  considerate  and  kind.  So  you  see 
the  woman  who  works  has  scarcely  any  time  to  suffer 
from  social  isolation." 

Daisy  said  lightly:  "Nobody  who  is  happily  em 
ployed  worries  over  social  matters.  Intelligence  and 
sweet  temper  bring  more  friends  than  a  busy  girl  knows 
what  to  do  with.  Isn't  that  so,  Miss  Nevers?" 

Jacqueline  turned  to  Elena  with  a  little  laugh :  "It's 
an  axiom  that  nobody  can  have  too  many  friends.  I 
want  all  I  can  have,  Mrs.  Clydesdale,  and  am  most 
grateful  when  people  like  me." 

"And  when  they  don't,"  asked  Elena,  smiling,  "what 
do  you  do  then,  Miss  Nevers?" 

"What  is  there  to  do,  Mrs.  Clydesdale?"  she  said 
gaily.  "What  would  you  do  about  it?" 

But  Elena  seemed  not  to  have  heard  her,  for  she  was 
already  turning  to  Desboro,  flushed,  almost  feverish  in 
her  animation: 

"So   many   things   have  happened   since  I   saw  you, 

Jim "  she  hesitated,  then  added  daringly,  "at  the 

opera.     Do  you  remember  Ariane?" 

"I  think  you  were  in  the  Barkley's  box,"  he  said 
coolly. 

"Your  memory  is  marvellous !  In  point  of  fact,  I  was 
there.  And  since  then  so  many,  many  things  have  hap 
pened  that  I'd  like  to  compare  notes  with  you — some 
time." 

"I'm  quite  ready  now,"  he  said. 

"Do  you  think  your  daily  record  fit  for  public  scru 
tiny,  Jim?"  she  laughed. 

"I  don't  mind  sharing  it  with  anybody  here,"  he 
retorted  gaily,  "if  you  have  no  objection." 

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Si 

OJ 

1 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

His  voice  and  hers,  and  their  laughter  seemed  so  per 
fectly  frank  that  thrust  and  parry  passed  as  without 
significance.  She  and  Desboro  were  still  lightly  rallying 
each  other;  Clydesdale  was  explaining  to  Daisy  that 
lapis  lazuli  was  the  sapphire  of  the  ancients,  while  Jac 
queline  was  showing  her  a  bit  under  a  magnifying 
glass,  when  the  noise  of  sleighs  and  motors  outside 
signalled  the  return  of  the  skating  party. 

As  Desboro  passed  her,  Elena  said  under  her  breath: 
"I  want  a  moment  alone  with  you  this  evening." 

"It's  impossible,"  he  motioned  with  his  lips;  and 
passed  on  with  a  smile  of  welcome  for  his  returning 
guests. 

Later,  in  the  billiard  room,  where  they  all  had  gath 
ered  before  the  impromptu  dance  which  usually  ter 
minated  the  evening,  Elena  found  another  chance 
for  a  word  aside:  "Jim,  I  must  speak  to  you  alone, 
please." 

"It  can't  be  done.  You  see  that  for  yourself,  don't 
you?" 

"It  can  be  done.     Go  to  your  room  and  I'll  come " 

"Are  you  mad?" 

"Almost.     I  tell  you  you'd  better  find  some  way " 

"What   has   happened?" 

"I  mean  to  have  you  tell  me,  Jim." 

A  dull  flush  came  into  his  face:  "Oh!  Well,  I'll 
tell  you  now,  if  you  like." 

Her  heart  seemed  to  stop  for  a  second,  then  almost 
suffocated  her,  and  she  instinctively  put  her  hand  to 
her  throat. 

He  was  leaning  over  the  pool  table,  idly  spinning  the 
ivory  balls ;  she,  seated  on  the  edge,  one  pretty,  bare 
arm  propping  her  body,  appeared  to  be  watching  him 

275 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

as  idly.  All  around  them  rang  the  laughter  and  ani 
mated  chatter  of  his  guests,  sipping  their  after-dinner 
coffee  and  cordial  around  the  huge  fireplace. 

"Don't  say — that  you  are  going  to — Jim "  she 

breathed.     "It  isn't  true— it  mustn't  be " 

He  interrupted  deliberately:  "What  are  you  trying 
to  do  to  me?  Make  a  servant  out  of  me?  Chain  me 
up  while  you  pass  your  life  deciding  at  leisure  whether 
to  live  with  your  husband  or  involve  yourself  and  me 
in  scandal?" 

"Are  you  in  love  with  that  girl — after  what  you 
have  promised  me?" 

"Are  you  sane  or  crazy?" 

"You  once  told  me  you  would  never  marry.  I  have 
rested  secure  in  the  knowledge  that  when  the  inevitable 
crash  came  you  would  be  free  to  stand  by  me !" 

"You  have  a  perfectly  good  husband.  You  and  he 
are  on  better  terms — you  are  getting  on  all  right  to 
gether.  Do  you  expect  to  keep  me  tied  to  the  table- 
leg  in  case  of  eventualities?"  he  said,  in  a  savage  whis 
per.  "How  many  men  do  you  wish  to  control?" 

"One!    I  thought  a  Desboro  never  lied." 

"Have  I  lied  to  you?" 

"If  you  marry  Miss  Nevers  you  will  have  lied  to  me, 
Jim." 

"Very  well.  Then  you'll  release  me  from  that  fool  of 
a  promise.  I  remember  I  did  say  that  I  would  never 
marry.  I've  changed  my  mind,  that's  all.  I've  changed 
otherwise,  too — please  God!  The  cad  you  knew  as 
James  Desboro  is  not  exactly  what  you're  looking  at 
now.  It's  in  me  to  be  something  remotely  resembling  a 
man.  I  learned  how  to  try  from  her,  if  you  want  to 
know.  What  I  was  can't  be  helped.  What  I'm  to  make 

276 


'  'Be  careful/  he  said.    .    .    .    'People  are  watching  us'  " 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

of  the  debris  of  what  I  am  concerns  myself.     If  you  ever 
had  a  shred  of  real  liking  for  me  you'll  show  it  now." 

"Jim!  Is  this  how  you  betray  me — after  persuad 
ing  me  to  continue  a  shameful  and  ghastly  farce  with 
Gary  Clydesdale!  You  have  betrayed  me — for  your 
own  ends !  You  have  made  my  life  a  living  lie  again — • 
so  that  you  could  evade  responsibility " 

"Was  I  ever  responsible  for  you?" 

"You  asked  me  to  marry  you " 

"Before  you  married  Gary.  Good  God!  Does  that 
entail  hard  labour  for  life?" 

"You  promised  not  to  marry " 

"What  is  it  to  you  what  I  do — if  you  treat  your 
husband  decently?" 

"I  have  tried "     She  crimsoned.     "I — I  endured 

degradation  to  which  I  will  never  again  submit — what 
ever  the  law  may  be — whatever  marriage  is  supposed  to 
include !  Do  you  think  you  can  force  me  to — to  that 
— for  your  own  selfish  ends — with  your  silly  and  unso 
licited  advice  on  domesticity  and — and  children — when 
my  heart  is  elsewhere — when  you  have  it,  and  you  know 
you  possess  it — and  all  that  I  am — every  bit  of  me. 
Jim!  Don't  be  cruel  to  me  who  have  been  trying  to 
live  as  you  wished,  merely  to  satisfy  a  moral  notion 
of  your  own !  Don't  betray  me  now — at  such  a  time — 
when  it's  a  matter  of  days,  hours,  before  I  tell  Gary 
that  the  farce  is  ended.  Are  you  going  to  leave  me  to 
face  things  alone?  You  can't!  I  won't  let  you!  I 
am " 

"Be  careful,"  he  said,  spinning  the  13  ball  into  a 
pocket.  "People  are  watching  us.  Toss  that  cue- 
ball  back  to  me,  please.  Laugh  a  little  when  you  da 
it." 

279 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

For  a  second  she  balanced  the  white  ivory  ball  in  a 
hand  which  matched  it ;  then  the  mad  impulse  to  dash  it 
into  his  smiling  face  passed  with  a  shudder,  and  she 
laughed  and  sent  it  caroming  swiftly  from  cushion  to 
cushion,  until  it  darted  into  his  hand. 

"Jim,"  she  said,  "you  are  not  really  serious.  I  know 
it,  too;  and  because  I  do  know  it,  I  have  been  able  to 
endure  the  things  you  have  done — your  idle  fancies  for 
a  pretty  face  and  figure — your  indiscretions,  ephemeral 
courtships,  passing  inclinations.  But  this  is  differ 
ent " 

"Yes,  it  is  different,"  he  said.  "And  so  am  I,  Elena. 
Let  us  be  about  the  honest  business  of  life,  in  God's 
name,  and  clear  our  hearts  and  souls  of  the  morbid 
and  unwholesome  mess  that  lately  entangled  us." 

"Is  that  how  you  speak  of  what  we  have  been  to  each 
other?"  she  asked,  very  pale. 

He  was  silent. 

"Jim,  dear,"  she  said  timidly,  "won't  you  give  me 
ten  minutes  alone  with  you?" 

He  scarcely  heard  her.  He  spun  the  last  parti-col 
oured  ball  into  a  corner  pocket,  straightened  his  shoul 
ders,  and  looked  at  Jacqueline  where  she  sat  in  the 
corner  of  the  fireplace.  Herrendene,  cross-legged  on 
the  rug  at  her  feet,  was  doing  Malay  card  tricks  to 
amuse  her ;  but  from  moment  to  moment  her  blue  eyes 
stole  across  the  room  toward  Desboro  and  Mrs.  Clydes 
dale  where  they  leaned  together  over  the  distant  pool 
table.  Suddenly  she  caught  his  eye  and  smiled  a  pale 
response  to  the  message  in  his  gaze. 

After  a  moment  he  said  quietly  to  Elena:  "I  am 
deeply  and  reverently  in  love — for  the  first  and  only- 
time  in  my  life.  It  is  proper  that  you  should  know  it. 

280 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

And  now  you  do  know  it.     There  is  absolutely  nothing 
further  to  be  said  between  us." 

"There   is — more   than   you    think,"    she   whispered, 
white  to  the  lips. 


CHAPTER  XI 

NOBODY,  apparently,  was  yet  astir ;  not  a  break 
fast  tray  had  yet  tinkled  along  the  dusky  cor 
ridors  when  Desboro,  descending  the  stairs  in 
the  dim  morning  light,  encountered  Jacqueline  coming 
from  the  general  direction  of  the  east  wing,  her  arms 
loaded  with  freshly  cut  white  carnations. 

"Good  morning,"  he  whispered,  in  smiling  surprise, 
taking  her  and  her  carnations  into  his  arms  very  rev 
erently,  almost  timidly. 

She  endured  the  contact  shyly  and  seriously,  as 
usual,  bending  her  head  aside  to  avoid  his  lips. 

"Do  you  suppose,"  he  said  laughingly,  "that  you 
could  ever  bring  yourself  to  kiss  me,  Jacqueline?" 

She  did  not  answer,  and  presently  he  released  her, 
saying:  "You  never  have  yet;  and  now  that  we're  en 
gaged " 

"Engaged !" 

"You  know  we  are!" 

"Is  that  what  you  think,  Jim?" 

"Certainly !     I  asked  you  to  marry  me " 

"No,  dear,  I  asked  you.  But  I  wasn't  certain  you 
had  quite  accepted  me " 

"Are  you  laughing  at  me?" 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  know  what  I  am  doing  any 
more;  laughter  and  tears  seem  so  close  to  each  other — 
sometimes — and  I  can  never  be  certain  which  it  is  go 
ing  to  be  any  more." 

Her  eyes  remained  grave,  but  her  lips  were  sweet 
282 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

and  humourous  as  she  stood  there  on  the  stairs,  her  chin 
resting  on  the  sheaf  of  carnations  clasped  to  her  breast. 

"What  is  troubling  you,  Jacqueline?"  he  asked,  after 
a  moment's  silence. 

"Nothing.  If  you  will  hold  these  flowers  a  moment 
I'll  decorate  you." 

He  took  the  fragrant  sheaf  from  her;  she  selected 
a  magnificent  white  blossom,  drew  the  stem  through  the 
lapel  of  his  coat,  patted  the  flower  into  a  position  which 
suited  her,  regarded  the  effect  critically,  then  glanced 
up  out  of  her  winning  blue  eyes  and  found  him  watch 
ing  her  dreamily. 

"I  try  to  realise  it,  and  I  can't,"  he  said  vaguely, 
"Can  you,  dear?" 

"Realise  what?"  she  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"That  we  are  engaged." 

"Are  you  so  sure  of  me,  Jim?" 

"Do  you  suppose  I  could  live  life  through  without 
you  now?" 

"I  don't  know.  Try  it  for  two  minutes  anyway; 
these  flowers  must  stand  in  water.  Will  you  wait  here 
for  me?" 

He  stepped  forward  to  aid  her,  but  she  passed  him 
lightly,  avoiding  his  touch,  and  sped  across  the  cor 
ridor.  In  a  few  minutes  she  returned  and  they  de 
scended  the  stairs  together,  and  entered  the  empty 
library.  She  leaned  back  against  the  table,  both  slen 
der  hands  resting  on  the  edge  behind  her,  and  gazed 
out  at  the  sparrows  in  the  snow.  And  she  did  not  even 
appear  to  notice  his  arm,  which  ventured  around  her 
waist,  or  his  lips  resting  against  the  lock  of  bright  hair 
curling  on  her  cheek,  so  absorbed  she  seemed  to  be  in 
her  silent  reflections. 

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THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

After  a  few  moments  she  said,  still  looking  out  of 
the  window :     "I  must  tell  you  something  now." 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  me  that  you  love  me?" 

"Yes — perhaps  I  had  better  begin  that  way." 

"Then  begin,  dearest." 

"I— I  love  you." 

His   arm  tightened  around  her,  but   she  gently   re 
leased  herself. 

"There  is  a — a  little  more  to  say,  Jim.  I  love  you 
enough  to  give  you  back  your  promise." 

"My  promise !" 

"To  marry  me,"  she  said  steadily.  "I  scarcely  knew 
what  I  was  saying  yesterday — I  was  so  excited,  so  much 
in  love  with  you — so  fearful  that  you  might  sometime 
be  unhappy  if  things  continued  with  us  as  they  threat 
ened  to  continue.  I'm  afraid  I  overvalued  myself — 
made  you  suspect  that  I  am  more  than  I  really  am — or 
can  ever  be.  Besides,  I  frightened  you — and  myself — 
unnecessarily.  I  never  could  be  in  any  danger  of — of 
loving  you — unwisely.  It  was  not  perfectly  fair  to  you 
to  hint  such  a  thing — because,  after  all,  there  is  a  third 
choice  for  you.  A  worthy  one.  For  you  could  let  me 
go  my  way  out  of  your  life,  which  is  already  so  full, 
and  which  would  fill  again  very  easily,  even  if  my  ab 
sence  left  a  little  void  for  a  while.  And  if  it  was  any 
kind  of  pity  you  felt  for  me — for  what  I  said  to 
you — that  stirred  you  to — ask  of  me  what  I  begged 
you  to  ask — then  I  give  you  back  your  promise. 
I  have  not  slept  for  thinking  over  it.  I  must  give  it 
back." 

He  remained  silent  for  a  while,  then  his  arms  slipped 
down  around  her  body  and  he  dropped  on  one  knee  be 
side  her  and  laid  his  face  close  against  her.  She  had 

284 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

to  bend  over  to  hear  what  he  was  saying,  he  spoke  so 
low  and  with  such  difficulty. 

"How  can  you  care  for  me?"  he  said.  "How  can 
you?  Don't  you  understand  what  a  beast  I  was — what 
lesser  impulse  possessed  me " 

"Hush,  Jim!    Am  I  different?" 

"Good  God !     Yes  !" 

"No,  dear." 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  saying !" 

"You  don't  know.  Do  you  suppose  I  am  immune  to 
— to  the — lesser  love — at  moments " 

He  lifted  his  head  and  looked  up  at  her,  dismayed. 

"You !" 

"I.     How  else  could  I  understand  you?" 

"Because  you  are  so  far  above  everything  unworthy." 

"No,  dear.  If  I  were,  you  would  only  have  angered 
and  frightened  me — not  made  me  sorry  for  us  both. 
Because  women  and  men  are  something  alike  at  mo 
ments  ;  only,  somehow,  women  seem  to  realise  that — 
somehow — they  are  guardians  of — of  something — of 
civilisation,  perhaps.  And  it  is  their  instinct  to  curb 
and  silence  and  ignore  whatever  unworthy  threatens  it 
or  them.  It  is  that  way  with  us,  Jim." 

She  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  sky  and  the 
trees,  and  stood  thinking  for  a  while.  Then:  "Did 
you  suppose  it  is  always  easy  for  a  girl  in  love — whose 
instinct  is  to  love — and  to  give?  Especially  such  a  girl 
as  I  am,  especially  when  she  is  so  dreadfully  afraid 
that  her  lover  may  think  her  cold-blooded — self-seek 
ing—perhaps  a — a  schemer " 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hand — the  quick,  ador 
able  gesture  he  knew  so  well. 

"I — did  ask  you  to  marry  me,"  she  said,  in  a  stifled 
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THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

voice,  "but  I  am  not  a  schemer ;  my  motive  was  not 
self-interest.  It  was  for  you  I  asked  it,  Jim,  far  more 
than  for  myself — or  I  never  could  have  found  the  cour 
age — perhaps  not  even  the  wish.  Because,  somehow, 
I  am  too  proud  to  wish  for  anything  that  is  not  of 
fered." 

As  he  said  nothing,  she  broke  out  suddenly  with  a 
little  sob  of  protest  in  her  voice:  "I  am  not  a  self- 
seeking,  calculating  woman !  I  am  not  naturally  cold 
and  unresponsive  !  I  am — inclined  to  be — otherwise. 
And  you  had  better  know  it.  But  you  won't  believe  it, 
I  am  afraid,  because  I — I  have  never  responded  to — to 
you." 

Tears  fell  between  her  fingers  over  the  flushed  cheeks. 
She  spoke  with  increasing  effort:  "You  don't  under 
stand;  and  I  can't  explain — except  to  say  that  to  be 
demonstrative  seemed  unworthy  in  me." 

He  put  his  arms  around  her  shoulders  very  gently; 
she  rested  her  forehead  against  his  shoulder. 

"Don't  think  me  calculating  and  cold-blooded — or 
a  fool,"  she  whispered.  "Probably  everybody  kisses  or 
is  kissed.  I  know  it  as  well  as  you  do.  But  I  haven't 
the — effrontery — to  permit  myself — such  emotions.  I 
couldn't,  Jim.  I'd  hate  myself.  And  I  thought  of 
that,  too,  when  I  asked  you  to  marry  me.  Because  if 
you  had  refused — and — matters  had  gone  on — you 
would  have  been  sorry  for  me  sooner  or  later — or  per 
haps  hated  me.  Because  I  would  have  been — been 
too  much  ashamed  of  myself  to  have — loved  you — un 
wisely." 

He  stood  with  head  bent,  listening;  and,  as  he  lis 
tened,  the  comparison  between  this  young  girl  and  him 
self  forced  itself  into  his  unwilling  mind — how  that 

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THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

all  she  believed  and  desired  ennobled  her,  and  how  what 
had  always  governed  him  had  made  of  him  nothing 
more  admirable  than  what  he  was  born,  a  human  ani 
mal.  For  what  he  began  as  he  still  was — only  cleverer. 

What  else  was  he — except  a  trained  animal,  suffi 
ciently  educated  to  keep  out  of  jail?  What  had  he 
done  with  his  inheritance?  His  body  was  sane  and 
healthy;  he  had  been  at  pains  to  cultivate  that.  How 
was  it  with  his  mind  ?  How  was  it  with  his  spiritual  be 
liefs  ?  Had  he  cultivated  and  added  to  either  ?  He  had 
been  endowed  with  a  brain.  Had  he  made  of  it  any 
thing  except  an  instrument  for  idle  caprice  and  in 
dolent  passions  to  play  upon? 

"Do  you  understand  me  now?"  she  whispered,  touch 
ing  wet  lashes  with  her  handkerchief. 

He  replied  impetuously,  hotly;  her  hands  dropped 
from  her  face  and  she  looked  up  at  him  with  sweet,  con 
fused  eyes,  blushing  vividly  under  his  praise  of  her. 

He  spoke  of  himself,  too,  with  all  the  quick,  impas 
sioned  impulse  of  youthful  emotion,  not  sparing  him 
self,  promising  better  things,  vowing  them  before  the 
shrine  of  her  innocence.  Yet,  a  stronger  character 
might  have  registered  such  vows  in  silence.  And  his 
fervour  and  incoherence  left  her  mute ;  and  after  he  had 
ceased  to  protest  too  much  she  stood  quiet  for  a  while, 
striving  to  search  herself  so  that  nothing  unworthy 
should  remain — so  that  heart  and  soul  should  be  clean 
under  the  magic  veil  of  happiness  descending  before 
her  enraptured  eyes. 

Gently  his  arms  encircled  her;  her  clasped  hands 
rested  on  his  shoulder,  and  she  gazed  out  at  the  blue 
sky  and  sun-warmed  snow  as  at  a  corner  of  paradise 
revealed. 

287 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

Later,  when  the  household  was  astir,  she  went  out 
with  him  into  the  greenhouse,  where  the  enchanted  still 
ness  of  growing  things  thrilled  her,  and  the  fragrance 
and  sunlight  made  the  mystery  of  love  and  its  miracle 
even  more  exquisitely  unreal  to  her. 

At  first  they  did  not  speak;  her  hand  lay  loosely  in 
his,  her  blue  eyes  remained  remote;  and  together  they 
slowly  paced  the  long,  glass-sheeted  galleries  between 
misty,  scented  mounds  of  bloom,  to  and  fro,  under  the 
flood  of  pallid  winter  sunshine,  pale  as  the  yellow  jas 
mine  flowers  overhead. 

After  a  while  a  fat  gardener  came  into  one  of  the 
further  wings.  Presently  the  sound  of  shovelled  coal 
from  the  furnace-pit  aroused  them  from  their  dream; 
and  they  looked  at  each  other  gravely. 

After  a  moment,  he  said :  "Does  it  make  a  difference 
to  you,  Jacqueline,  what  I  was  before  I  knew  you?" 

"No." 

"I  was  only  wondering  what  you  really  think  of  me." 

"You  know  already,  Jim." 

He  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"Jim!  Of  course  you  know!"  she  insisted  hotly. 
"What  you  may  have  been  before  I  knew  you  I  refuse 
to  consider.  Anyway,  it  was  you — part  of  you — and 
belongs  to  me  now!  Because  I  choose  to  make  it  mine 
— all  that  you  were  and  are — good  and  evil!  For  I 
won't  give  up  one  atom  of  you — even  to  the  devil 
himself!" 

He  tried  to  laugh :  "What  a  fierce  little  partisan  you 
are,"  he  said. 

"Very — where  it  concerns  you,"  she  said,  unsmiling. 

"Dear — I  had  better  tell  you  now;  you  may  hear 

things  about  me " 

288 


THE   BUSINESS   OF    LIFE 

"I  won't  listen  to  them !" 

"No;  but  one  sometimes  hears  without  listening. 
People  may  say  things.  They  will  say  things.  I  wish 
I  could  spare  you.  If  I  had  known — if  I  had  only 
known — that  you  were  in  the  world " 

"Don't,  Jim!  It— it  isn't  best  for  me  to  hear.  It 
doesn't  concern  me,"  she  insisted  excitedly.  "And  if 
anybody  dares  say  one  word  to  me " 

"Wait,  dear.  All  I  want  to  be  sure  of  is  that  you 
do  love  me  enough  to — to  go  on  loving  me.  I  want  to 
be  certain,  and  I  want  you  to  be  certain  before  you  are 
a  bride " 

She  was  growing  very  much  excited,  and  suddenly 
near  to  tears,  for  the  one  thing  that  endangered  her 
self-control  seemed  to  be  his  doubt  of  her. 

"There  is  nothing  that  I  haven't  forgiven  you,"  she 
said.  "Nothing!  There  is  nothing  I  won't  forgive — 
except — one  thing " 

"What?" 

"I  can't  say  it.  I  can't  even  think  it.  All  I  know  is 
that  now  I  couldn't  forgive  it."  Suddenly  she  became 
perfectly  quiet. 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  he  said. 

"Yes.  It  is  what  no  wife  can  forgive."  She  looked 
at  him,  clear  eyed,  intelligent,  calm ; '  for  the  moment 
without  any  illusion ;  and  he  seemed  to  feel  that,  in  the 
light  of  what  she  knew  of  him,  she  was  coolly  weighing 
the  danger  of  the  experiment.  Never  had  he  seen  so 
cold  and  lustrous  a  brow,  such  limpid  clarity  of  eye, 
searching,  fearless,  direct.  Then,  in  an  instant,  it  all 
seemed  to  melt  into  flushed  and  winsome  loveliness ;  and 
she  was  murmuring  that  she  loved  him,  and  asking 
pardon  for  even  one  second's  hesitation. 

289 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"It  never  could  be ;  it  is  unthinkable,"  she  whispered. 
"And  it  is  too  late  anyway  for  me — I  would  love  you 
now,  whatever  you  killed  in  me.  Because  I  must  go  on 
loving  you,  Jim;  for  that  is  the  way  it  is  with  me,  and 
I  know  it  now.  As  long  as  there  is  life  in  me  I'll  strive 
for  you  in  my  own  fashion — even  against  yourself — to 
keep  you  for  mine,  to  please  you,  to  be  to  you  and  to 
the  world  what  you  wish  me  to  be — for  your  honour  and 
your  happiness — which  also  must  be  my  own — the  only 
happiness,  now,  that  I  can  ever  understand." 

He  held  her  in  his  arms,  smoothing  the  bright  hair, 
touching  the  white  brow  with  his  lips  at  moments, 
happy  because  he  was  so  deeply  in  love,  fearful  because 
of  it — and,  deep  in  his  soul,  miserable,  afraid  lest  aught 
out  of  his  past  life  return  again  to  mock  her — lest 
some  echo  of  folty  offend  her  ears — some  shadow  fall 
— some  phantom  of  dead  days  rise  from  their  future 
hearth  to  stand  between  them. 

It  is  that  way  with  a  man  who  has  lived  idly  and 
irresponsibly,  and  who  has  gone  lightly  about  the  pleas 
ure  of  life  and  not  its  business.  For  sometimes  there 
arrives  an  hour  of  unbidden  clairvoyance — not  neces 
sarily  a  spiritual  awakening — but  a  moment  of  bal 
anced  intelligence  and  sanity  and  clear  vision.  And 
when  it  arrives,  the  road  to  yesterday  suddenly  be 
comes  visible  for  its  entire  length;  and  when  a  man 
looks  back  he  sees  it  stretching  away  behind  him,  peo 
pled  with  every  shape  that  has  ever  traversed  it,  and 
every  spectre  that  ever  has  haunted  it. 

Sorrow  for  what  need  not  have  been,  regret  and 
shame  for  what  had  been — and  the  bitterness  of  the 
folly — the  knowledge,  too  late,  of  what  he  could  have 
been  to  the  girl  he  held  now  in  his  arms — how  he  could 

290 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

have  met  her  on  more  equal  terms  had  he  saved  his 
youth  and  strength  and  innocence  and  pride  for  her 
alone — how  he  could  have  given  it  unsullied  into  her 
keeping.  All  this  Desboro  was  beginning  to  realise 
now.  And  many  men  have  realised  it  when  the  tardy 
understanding  came  too  late.  For  what  has  been  is  still 
and  will  be  always ;  and  shall  appear  here  or  hereafter, 
or  after  that — somewhere,  sometime,  inevitably,  inex 
orably.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  expunging  what  has 
been,  or  of  erasing  what  is  to  be.  All  records  stand; 
hope  lies  only  in  lengthening  the  endless  chapters — 
chapters  which  will  not  be  finished  when  the  sun  dies, 
and  the  moon  fails,  and  the  stars  go  out  forever. 

Walking  slowly  back  together,  they  passed  Herren- 
dene  in  the  wing  hall,  and  his  fine  and  somewhat  melan 
choly  face  lighted  up  at  the  encounter. 

"I'm  so  sorry  you  are  going  to-day,"  said  Jacque 
line,  with  all  her  impulsive  and  sweet  sincerity.  "Every 
body  will  miss  you  and  wish  you  here  again." 

"To  be  regretted  is  one  of  the  few  real  pleasures  in 
life,"  he  said,  smiling.  His  quick  eye  had  rested  on 
Desboro  and  then  reverted  to  her,  and  his  intuition  was 
warning  him  with  all  the  brutality  and  finality  of  rea 
son  that  his  last  hope  of  her  must  end. 

Desboro  said:  "I  hate  to  have  you  go,  Herrendene, 
but  I  suppose  you  must." 

"Must  you?"  echoed  Jacqueline,  wistful  for  the  mo 
ment.  But  the  irresistible  radiance  of  happiness  had 
subtly  transfigured  her,  and  Herrendene  looked  into  her 
eyes  and  saw  the  new-born  beauty  in  them,  shyly  appar 
ent. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  must  be  about  the  business  of  life 
291 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

— the  business  of  life,  Miss  Nevers.  Everybody  is  en 
gaged  in  it;  it  has  many  names,  but  it's  all  the  same 
business.  You,  for  example,  pass  judgment  on  beauti 
ful  things;  Desboro,  here,  is  a  farmer,  and  I  play  sol 
dier  with  sword  and  drum.  But  it's  all  the  same  busi 
ness — the  business  of  life;  and  one  can  work  at  it  or 
idle  through  it,  but  never  escape  it,  because,  at  the  last, 
every  soul  in  the  world  must  die  in  harness.  And  the 
idlest  are  the  heaviest  laden."  He  laughed.  "That's 
quite  a  sermon,  isn't  it,  Miss  Nevers?  And  shall 
I  make  my  adieux  now?  Were  you  going  any 
where?  You  see  I  am  leaving  Silverwood  directly  after 
breakfast " 

"As  though  Mr.  Desboro  and  I  would  go  off  any 
where  and  not  say  good-bye  to  you!"  she  exclaimed 
indignantly,  quite  unconscious  of  being  too  obvious. 

So  they  all  three  returned  to  the  breakfast  room 
together,  where  Clydesdale,  who  had  come  over  from 
the  Hammertons'  for  breakfast,  was  already  tramping 
hungrily  around  the  covered  dishes  on  the  sideboard, 
hot  plate  in  hand,  evidently  meditating  a  wholesale 
assault.  He  grinned  affably  as  Jacqueline  and  Des 
boro  came  in,  and  they  all  helped  themselves  from  the 
warmers,  returning  laden  to  the  table  with  whatever 
suited  their  fancy.  Other  guests,  to  whom  no  trays  had 
been  sent,  arrived  one  after  another  to  prowl  around 
the  browse  and  join  in  the  conversation  if  they  chose, 
or  sulk,  as  is  the  fashion  with  some  perfectly  worthy 
souls  at  breakfast-tide. 

"This  thaw  settles  the  skating  for  good  and  all," 
remarked  Reggie  Ledyard.  "Will  you  go  fishing  with 
me,  Miss  Nevers?  It's  our  last  day,  you  know." 

Cairns   growled   over   his   grape-fruit:      "You   can't 
292 


THE  BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

make  dates  with  Miss  Nevers  at  the  breakfast  table.  It 
isn't  done.  I  was  going  to  ask  her  to  do  something 
with  me,  anyway." 

"I  hate  breakfast,"  said  Van  Alstyne.  "When  I  see 
it  I  always  wish  I  were  dead  or  that  everybody  else  was. 
Zooks !  This  cocktail  helps  some !  Try  one,  Miss 
Nevers." 

"There's  reason  in  your  grouch,"  remarked  Bertie 
Barkley,  with  his  hard-eyed  smile,  "considering  what 
Aunt  Hannah  and  I  did  to  you  and  Helsa  at  auction 
last  night." 

"Aunt  Hannah  will  live  in  luxury  for  a  year  on  it," 
added  Cairns  maliciously.  "Doesn't  it  make  you  happy, 
Stuyve?" 

"Oh — blub !"  muttered  Van  Alstyne,  hating  every 
body  and  himself — and  most  of  all  hating  to  think  of 
his  losses  and  of  the  lady  who  caused  them.  Only  the 
really  rich  know  how  card  losses  rankle. 

Cairns  glanced  banteringly  across  at  Jacqueline.  It 
was  his  form  of  wit  to  quiz  her  because  she  neither  in 
dulged  in  cocktails  nor  cigarettes,  nor  played  cards  for 
stakes.  He  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  tapped  the  frosted 
shaker  beside  him  significantly. 

"I've  a  new  kind  of  mountain  dew,  warranted  to 
wake  the  dead,  Miss  Nevers.  I  call  it  the.  'Aunt  Han 
nah,'  in  her  honour — honour  to  whom  honour  is  dew," 
he  added  impudently.  "Won't  you  let  me  make  you  a 
cocktail?" 

"Wait  until  Aunt  Hannah  hears  how  you  have  hon 
oured  her  and  tempted  me,"  laughed  Jacqueline. 

"I  never  tempted  maid  or  wife 

Or  suffragette  in  all  my  life " 

293 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

sang    Ledyard,    beating    time    on    Van    Alstyne,    who 
silently  scowled  his  displeasure. 

Presently  Ledyard  selected  a  grape-fruit,  with  a  sour 
smile  at  one  of  Desboro's  cats  which  had  confidently 
leaped  into  his  lap. 

"Is  this  a  zoo  den  in  the  Bronx,  or  a  breakfast  room, 
Desboro?  I  only  ask  because  I'm  all  over  cats." 

Bertie  Barkley  snapped  his  napkin  at  an  intrusive 
yellow  pup  who  was  sniffing  and  wagging  at  his  elbow. 

Jacqueline  comforted  the  retreating  animal,  bending 
over  and  crooning  in  his  floppy  ear : 

"They  gotta  stop  kickin'  my  dawg  aroun'." 

"What  do  you  care  what  they  do  to  Jim's  live  stock, 
Miss  Nevers?"  demanded  Ledyard  suspiciously. 

She  laughed,  but  to  her  annoyance  a  warmer  colour 
brightened  her  cheeks. 

"Heaven  help  us !"  exclaimed  Reggie.  "Miss  Nevers 
is  blushing  at  the  breakfast  table.  Gentlemen,  are  we 
done  for  without  even  suspecting  it?  And  by  that — 
that"— pointing  a  furious  finger  at  Desboro — "that!'9 

"Certainly,"  said  Desboro,  smiling.  "Did  you 
imagine  I'd  ever  let  Miss  Nevers  escape  from  Silver- 
wood?" 

Ledyard  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief:  "Gad,"  he  mut 
tered,  "I  suspected  you  both  for  a  moment.  Anyway, 
it  doesn't  matter.  Every  man  here  would  have  mur 
dered  you  in  turn.  Come  on,  Miss  Nevers;  you've 
made  a  big  splash  with  me,  and  I'll  play  you  a  game  of 
rabbit — or  anything  on  earth,  if  you'll  let  me  run  along 
beside  you." 

"No,  I'm  driving  with  Captain  Herrendcne  to  the 
station,"  she  said;  and  that  melancholy  soldier  looked 
up  in  grateful  surprise. 

294. 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

And  she  did  go  with  him;  and  everybody  came  out 
on  the  front  steps  to  wish  him  bon  voyage. 

"Are  you  coming  back,  Miss  Nevers?"  asked  Led- 
yard,  in  pretended  alarm. 

"I  don't  know.  Is  Manila  worth  seeing,  Captain 
Herrendene?"  she  asked,  laughingly. 

"If  you  sail  for  Manila  with  that  tin  soldier  I'll  go 
after  you  in  a  hydroplane!"  called  Reggie  after  them, 
as  the  car  rolled  away.  He  added  frankly,  for  every 
body's  benefit:  "1  hate  any  man  who  even  looks  at 
her,  and  I  don't  care  who  knows  it.  But  what's  the 
use?  Going  to  night-school  might  help  me,  but  I  doubt 
it.  No;  she's  for  a  better  line  of  goods  than  the  sam 
ples  at  Silverwood.  She  shines  too  far  above  us.  Mark 
that,  James  Desboro !  And  take  what  comfort  you  can 
in  your  reflected  glory.  For  had  she  not  been  the  spot 
light,  you'd  look  exactly  like  the  rest  of  us.  And  that 
isn't  flattering  anybody,  I'm  thinking." 

It  was  to  be  the  last  day  of  the  party.  Everybody 
was  leaving  directly  after  luncheon,  and  now  every 
body  seemed  inclined  to  do  nothing  in  particular.  Mrs. 
Clydesdale  came  over  from  the  Hammerton's.  The  air 
was  soft  and  springlike;  the  snow  in  the  fields  was 
melting  and  full  of  golden  pools.  People  seemed  to  be 
inclined  to  stroll  about  outdoors  without  their  hats ;  a 
lively  snowball  battle  began  between  Gary  Clydesdale 
on  one  side  and  Cairns  and  Reggie  Ledyard  on  the 
other — and  gradually  was  participated  in  by  every 
body  except  Aunt  Hannah,  who  grimly  watched  it  from 
the  library  window.  But  her  weather  eye  never  left 
Mrs.  Clydesdale. 

She  was  still  standing  at  the  window  when  somebody 
entered  the  library  behind  her,  and  somebody  else  fol- 

295 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

lowed.  She  knew  who  they  were;  the  curtains  screened 
her.  For  one  second  the  temptation  to  listen  beset  her, 
but  she  put  it  away  with  a  sniff,  and  had  already  turned 
to  disclose  herself  when  she  heard  Mrs.  Clydesdale  say 
something  that  stiffened  her  into  a  rigid  silence. 

What  followed  stiffened  her  still  more — and  there 
were  only  a  few  words,  too — only : 

"For  God's  sake,  what  are  you  thinking  of?"  from 
Desboro;  and  from  Elena  Clydesdale: 

"This  has  got  to  end — I  can't  stand  it,  Jim " 

"Stand  what?" 

"Him  !     And  what  you  are  doing !" 

"Be  careful!  Do  you  want  people  to  overhear  us?" 
he  said,  in  a  low  voice  of  concentrated  anger. 

"Then  where " 

"I  don't  know.     Wait  until  these  people  leave " 

"To-night?" 

"How  can  we  see  each  other  to-night!" 

"Gary  is  going  to  New  York 

Voices  approaching  through  the  hall  warned  him: 

"All  right,  to-night,"  he  said,  desperately.  "Go  out 
into  the  hall." 

"To-night,  Jim?" 

"Yes." 

She  turned  and  walked  out  into  the  hall.  He  heard 
her  voice  calmly  joining  in  the  chatter  now  approach 
ing,  and,  without  any  reason,  he  walked  to  the  window. 
And  found  Mrs.  Hammerton  there. 

Astonishment  and  anger  left  him  dumb  and  scarlet  to 
the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"It  isn't  my  fault,"  she  hissed.  "You  and  that  other 
fool  had  already  committed  yourselves  before  I  could 
stir  to  warn  you.  What  do  I  care  for  your  vile  little 

296 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

intrigues,  anyway !     I  don't  have  to  listen  behind  cur 
tains  to  learn  what  anybody   could  have   seen   at  the 

Metropolitan  Opera : 

"You  are  absolutely  mistaken " 


"No  doubt,  James.  But  whether  I  am  or  not  makes 
absolutely  no  difference  to  me — or  to  Jacqueline  Nev- 
ers " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"What  I  say,  exactly.  It  will  make  no  difference  to 
Jacqueline,  because  you  are  going  to  keep  your  dis 
tance." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"If  you  don't  keep  away  from  her  I'll  tell  her  a  few 
things.  Listen  to  me  very  carefully,  James.  You 
think  I'm  fond  of  you,  don't  you?  Well,  I  am.  But 
I've  taken  a  fancy  to  Jacqueline  Nevers  that — well,  if 
I  were  not  childless  I  might  feel  it  less  deeply.  I've  put 
my  arms  around  her  once  and  for  all.  Now  do  you 
understand?" 

"I  tell  you,"  he  said  steadily,  "you  are  mistaken  in 
believing " 

"Very  well.  Granted.  What  of  it?  One  dirty  little 
intrigue  more  or  less  doesn't  alter  what  you  are  and 
have  been.  The  plain  point  of  the  matter  is  this, 
James :  you  are  not  fit  to  aspire  seriously  to  Jacqueline 
Nevers.  Are  you?  I  ask  you,  now,  honestly;  are 
you?" 

"Does  that  concern  you?" 

She  fairly  snapped  her  teeth  and  her  eyes  sparkled: 

"Yes ;  it  concerns  me  !  Keep  away !  I  warn  you — 
you  and  the  rest  of  the  Jacks  and  Reggies  and  similar 
assorted  pups.  Your  hunting  ground  is  elsewhere." 

A  sort  of  cold  fury  possessed  him:  "You  had  better 
297 


THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

not  say  anything  to  Miss  Nevers  about  what  you 
overheard  in  this  room,"  he  said  in  a  colourless 
voice. 

"I'll  use  my  own  judgment,"  she  retorted  tartly. 

"Use  mine.     It  is  perhaps  better.     Don't  interfere." 

"Don't  be  a   fool,  James." 

"Will  you  listen  to  me " 

"About  Elena  Clydesdale?"  she  asked  maliciously. 

"There  is  nothing  to  tell  about  her." 

1  'Naturally.  I  never  heard  the  Desboros  were  black 
guards — only  a  trifle  airy,  James — a  trifle  gallant! 
Dear  child,  don't  anger  me.  You  know  it  wouldn't  be 
well  for  you." 

"I  ask  you  merely  to  mind  your  business." 

"That  I  shall  do.  My  life's  business  is  Jacqueline. 

You  yourself  made  her  so Malice  indescribable 

snapped  in  her  tiny  black  eyes,  and  she  laughed  harshly. 
"You  made  that  motherless  girl  my  business.  Ask 
yourself  if  you've  ever,  inadvertently,  done  as  decent 
a  thing?" 

"Do  you  understand  that  I  wish  to  marry  her?"  he 
asked,  white  with  passion. 

"You!  What  do  I  care  what  your  patronising  inten 
tions  may  be?  And,  James,  if  you  drive  me  to  it " 

she  fairly  glared  at  him,  " — I'll  destroy  even  your  ac 
quaintanceship  with  her.  And  I  possess  the  means  to 
do  it !" 

"Try  it !"  he  motioned  with  dry  lips. 

A  moment  later  the  animated  chatter  of  young  peo 
ple  filled  the  room,  and  among  them  sounded  Jacque 
line's  voice. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  laughing,  when  she  saw  Mrs.  Ham- 
merton  and  Desboro  coming  from  the  embrasure  of 

298 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

the  window.  "Have  you  been  flirting  again,  Aunt 
Hannah!" 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  lady  grimly,  "and  I  think  I've 
taken  him  into  camp." 

"Then  it's  my  turn,"  said  Jacqueline.  "Come  on, 
Mr.  Desboro,  you  can't  escape  me.  I'm  going  to  beat 
you  a  game  of  rabbit !" 

Everybody  drifted  into  the  billiard-room  at  their 
heels,  and  found  them  already  at  their  stations  on 
either  side  of  the  pool  table,  each  one  covering  the  side 
pocket  with  left  hand  spread  wide.  Jacqueline  had 
the  cue-ball ;  it  lay  on  the  cloth  in  front  of  her,  and  her 
slim  right  hand  covered  it. 

"Read}7?"  she  asked  of  Desboro. 

"Ready,"  he  said,  watching  her. 

She  made  a  feint ;  he  sprang  to  the  left ;  she  shot 
the  ball  toward  the  right  corner  pocket,  missed,  car- 
romed,  and  tried  to  recover  it ;  but  Desboro's  arm  shot 
out  across  the  cloth  and  he  seized  it  and  shot  it  at  her 
left  corner  pocket.  It  went  in  with  a  plunk ! 

"One  for  Jim!"  said  Reggie  gravely,  and,  picking 
up  a  cue,  scored  with  a  button  overhead. 

"Plunk !"  went  the  ball  again  into  the  same  pocket ; 
and  Jacqueline  gave  a  little  cry  of  dismay  as  Desboro 
leaned  far  over  the  table,  threatening,  feinting,  moving 
the  ball  so  fast  she  could  scarcely  follow  his  hand. 
Then  she  thought  she  saw  the  crisis  coming,  sprang  to- 
\vard  the  left  corner  pocket,  gave  a  cry  of  terror,  and 
plunk!  went  the  ball  into  her  side  pocket. 

Flushed,  golden  hair  in  pretty  disorder,  she  sprang 
back  on  guard  again,  and  the  onlookers  watched  the 
movement  of  her  hands,  fascinated  by  their  grace  and 
beauty  as  she  defended  her  side  of  the  table  and,  finally, 

299 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

snatched  the  ball  from  the  very  jaws  of  the  right  cor 
ner. 

It  was  a  breathless,  exciting  game,  even  for  rabbit, 
and  was  fought  to  a  furious  finish;  but  she  went  down 
to  defeat,  and  Desboro  came  around  the  table  to  condole 
with  her,  and  together  they  stepped  aside  to  leave  the 
arena  free  for  Katharine  Frere  and  Reggie. 

"I'm  so  sorry,  dear,"  he  said  under  his  breath. 

"It's  what  I  want,  Jim.  Never  let  me  take  the  lead 
again — in  anything." 

His  laugh  was  not  genuine.  He  glanced  across  the 
room  and  saw  Aunt  Hannah  pretending  not  to  watch 
him.  Near  her  stood  Elena  Clydesdale  beside  her  hus 
band,  making  no  such  pretence. 

He  said  in  a  low  voice:  "Jacqueline,  would  you 
marry  me  as  soon  as  I  can  get  a  license — if  I  asked 
you  to  do  it?" 

She  blushed  furiously;  then  walked  over  to  the  win 
dow  and  gazed  out,  dismayed  and  astounded.  He  fol 
lowed. 

"Will  you,  dear?  I  have  the  very  best  of  reasons 
for  asking  you." 

"Could  you  tell  me  the  reasons,  Jim?"  she  asked,  still 
dazed. 

"I  had  rather  not — if  you  don't  mind.  Will  you 
trust  me  when  I  say  it  is  better  for  us  to  marry  quietly 
and  at  once?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  dumbly,  the  scarlet  slowly 
fading  from  brow  and  cheek. 

"Do  you  trust  me?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes— I  trust  you." 

"Will  you  marry  me,  then,  as  soon  as  I  can  arrange 
for  it?" 

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THE  BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

She  was  silent. 

"Will  you?"  he  urged. 

"Jim — darling — I  wanted  to  be  equipped — I  wanted 
to  have  some  pretty  things,  in  order  to — to  be  at  my 
very  best — for  you.  A  girl  is  a  bride  only  once  in 
her  life ;  a  man  remembers  her  as  she  came  to  him  first." 

"Dearest,  as  I  saw  you  first,  so  I  will  always  think 
of  you." 

"Oh,  Jim!  In  that  black  gown  and  cuffs  and  col 
lar!" 

"You  don't  understand  men,  dear.  No  coronation 
robe  ever  could  compete  with  that  dress  in  my  affec 
tions.  You  always  are  perfect;  I  never  saw  you  when 
you  weren't  bewitching " 

"But,  dear,  there  are  other  things " 

"We'll  buy  them  together!" 

"Jim,  must  we  do  it  this  way?  I  don't  mean  that 
I  wished  for  any  ostentation " 

"I  did!  I  would  have  wished  for  a  ceremony  suited 
to  your  beauty  and " 

"No,  no!     I  didn't  expect " 

"But  I  did — damn  it!"  he  said  between  his  teeth. 
"I  wished  it;  I  expected  it.  Don't  you  think  I  know 
what  a  girl  ought  to  have?  Indeed  I  do,  Jacqueline. 
And  in  New  York  town  another  century  will  never  see 
a  bride  to  compare  with  you !  But,  my  darling,  I  can 
not  risk  it!" 

"Risk  it?" 

"Don't  ask  me  any  more." 

"No." 

"And — will  you  do  it — for  my  sake?" 

"Yes."  . 

There  was  a  silence  between  them ;  he  lighted  a  ciga- 
301 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

rette,  turned  coolly  around,  and  glanced  across  the 
room.  Elena  instantly  averted  her  gaze.  Mrs.  Ham- 
merton  sustained  his  pleasant  inspection  with  an  un 
changing  stare  almost  insolent. 

After  a  moment  he  smiled  at  her.  It  was  a  mistake  to 
do  it. 

After  luncheon,  Elena  Clydesdale  found  an  oppor 
tunity  for  a  word  with  him. 

"Will  you  remember  that  you  have  an  engagement 
to-night?"  she  said  in  a  guarded  voice. 

"I  shall  break  it,"  he  replied. 

"What !" 

"This  is  going  to  end  here  and  now !  Your  business 
is  with  your  husband.  He's  a  decent  fellow ;  he's  de 
voted  to  you.  I  won't  even  discuss  it  with  you.  Break 
with  him  if  you  want  to,  but  don't  count  on  me !" 

"I  can't  break  with  him  unless  I  can  count  on  you. 
Are  you  going  to  lie  to  me,  Jim?" 

"You  can  call  it  what  you  like.  But  if  you  break 
with  him  it  will  end  our  friendship." 

"I  tell  you  I've  got  to  break  with  him.  I've  got  to 
do  it  now — at  once !" 

"Why?" 

"Because — because  I've  got  to.  I  can't  go  on  fenc 
ing  with  him." 

"Oh !" 

She  crimsoned  and  set  her  little  white  teeth. 

"I've  got  to  leave  him  or  be  what — I  won't  be!" 

"Then  break  with  him,"  he  said  contemptuously, 
"and  give  a  decent  man  another  chance  in  life!" 

"I  can't — unless  you 

"Good  God!  I'd  sooner  cut  my  throat.  My  sym- 
302 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

pathy  is  for  your  husband.  You're  convicting  yourself, 
I  tell  you!  I've  always  had  a  dim  idea  that  he  was 
all  right.  Now  I  know  it — and  my  obligations  to 
you  are  ended." 

"Then — you  leave  me — to  him?  Answer  me,  Jim. 
You  refuse  to  stand  between  me  and  my — my  degrada 
tion?  Is  that  what  you  mean  to  do?  Knowing  I  have 
no  other  means  of  escaping  it  except  through  you — 
except  by  defying  the  world  with  you!" 

She  broke  off  with  a  sob. 

"Elena,"  he  said,  "your  one  salvation  in  this  world 
is  to  have  children !  It  will  mean  happiness  and  honour 
for  you  both — mutual  respect,  and,  if  not  romantic 
love,  at  least  a  cordial  understanding  and  mutual  tol 
eration.  If  you  have  such  a  chance,  don't  throw  it 
away.  Your  husband  is  a  slow,  intelligent,  kind,  and 
patient  man,  who  has  borne  much  from  you  because 
he  is  honestly  in  love  with  you.  Don't  mistake  his 
consideration  for  weakness,  his  patience  for  acquies 
cence.  What  kindness  you  have  pretended  to  show  him 
recently  has  given  him  courage.  He  is  trying  to  make 
good  because  he  believes  that  he  can  win  you.  This 
is  clear  reason ;  it  is  logic,  Elena." 

She  turned  on  him  in  a  flash  of  tears  and  exaspera 
tion. 

"Logic!  Do  you  think  a  woman  wants  that?"  she 
stammered.  "Do  you  think  a  woman  arrives  at  any 
conclusion  through  the  kind  of  reasoning  that  satisfies 
men?  What  difference  does  what  you  say  make  to  me, 
when  I  hate  him  and  I  love  you?  How  does  your  logic 
help  me  to  escape  what  is — is  abhorrent  to  me !  Do  you 
suppose  your  reasoning  makes  it  more  endurable?  Oh, 
Jim!  For  heaven's  sake  don't  leave  me  to  that — that 

303 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

man !  Let  me  come  here  this  evening  after  he  has  gone, 
and  try  to  explain  to  you  how  I " 

"No." 

"You  won't !" 

"No.  I  am  going  to  town  with  Mrs.  Hammerton  and 
Miss  Nevers  on  the  evening  train.  And  some  day  I  am 
going  to  marry  Miss  Nevers." 


CHAPTER  XII 

DURING  her  week's  absence  from  town  Jacque 
line's  mail  had  accumulated ;  a  number  of  busi 
ness  matters  had  come  into  the  office,  the  dis 
posal  of  which  now  awaited  her  decision — requests  from 
wealthy  connoisseurs  for  expert  opinion,  offers  to  dis 
pose  of  collections  entire  or  in  part,  invitations  to  deal 
ers'  secret  conferences,  urgent  demands  for  appraisers, 
questions  concerning  origin  or  authenticity,  commis 
sions  to  buy,  sell,  advertise,  or  send  searchers  through 
out,  the  markets  at  home  or  abroad  for  anything  from 
a  tiny  shrine  of  Limoges  enamel  to  a  complete  suit  of 
equestrian  armour  to  fill  a  gap  in  a  series  belonging 
to  some  rich  man's  museum. 

On  the  evening  of  her  arrival  at  the  office,  she  was 
beset  by  her  clerks  and  salesmen,  bringing  to  her  hun 
dreds  of  petty  routine  details  requiring  her  personal 
examination.  Also,  it  appeared  that  one  of  her  clients 
had  been  outrageously  swindled  by  a  precious  pair  of 
fly-by-nights ;  and  the  matter  required  immediate  in 
vestigation.  So  she  was  obliged  to  telephone  to  Mrs. 
Hammerton  that  she  could  not  dine  with  her  at  the 
Ritz,  and  to  Desboro  that  she  could  not  see  him  for 
a  day  or  two.  In  Desboro's  case,  a  postscript  added: 
"Except  for  a  minute,  dearest,  whenever  you  come." 

She  did  not  even  take  the  time  to  dine  that  evening, 
but  settled  down  at  her  office  desk  as  soon  as  the  retail 
shop  below  was  closed;  and,  with  the  tea  urn  and  a 

305 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

rack  of  toast  at  her  elbow,  plunged  straight  into  the 
delightfully  interesting  chaos  confronting  her. 

As  far  as  the  shop  was  concerned,  the  New  Year,  as 
usual,  had  brought  to  that  part  of  the  business  a  lull 
in  activity.  It  always  happened  so  after  New  Years ; 
and  the  stagnation  steadity  increased  as  spring  ap 
proached,  until  by  summer  time  the  retail  business  was 
practically  dead. 

But  a  quiet  market  did  not  mean  that  there  was 
nothing  for  her  to  do.  Warehouse  sales  must  be 
watched,  auctions,  public  and  private,  in  town  and  coun 
try,  must  be  attended  by  one  or  more  of  her  repre 
sentatives ;  private  clients  inclined  to  sell  always  re 
quired  tactful  handling  and  careful  consideration;  her 
confidential  agents  must  always  be  alert. 

Also,  always  her  people  were  continually  searching 
for  various  objects  ardently  desired  by  all  species  of 
acquisitive  clients ;  she  must  keep  in  constant  touch 
with  everything  that  was  happening  in  her  business 
abroad;  she  must  keep  abreast  of  her  times  at  home, 
which  required  much  cleverness,  intuition,  and  current 
reading,  and  much  study  in  the  Museum  and  among 
private  collections  to  which  she  had  access.  She  was 
a  very,  very  busy  girl,  almost  too  busy  at  moments 
to  remember  that  she  had  fallen  in  love. 

That  night  she  worked  alone  in  her  office  until  long 
after  midnight;  and  all  the  next  day  until  noon  she 
was  busy  listening  to  or  instructing  salesmen,  clerks, 
dealers,  experts,  auctioneers,  and  clients.  Also,  the 
swindle  and  the  swindlers  were  worrying  her  extremely. 

Luncheon  had  been  served  on  a  tray  beside  her  desk, 
and  she  was  still  absent-mindedly  going  over  the  car 
bon  files  of  business  letters,  which  she  had  dictated  and 

30G 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

dispatched  that  morning,  when  Desboro's  card  was 
brought  to  her.  She  sent  word  that  she  would  receive 
him. 

"Will  you  lunch  with  me,  Jim?"  she  asked  demurely, 
when  he  had  appeared  and  shaken  hands  vigorously. 
"I've  a  fruit  salad  and  some  perfectly  delicious  sher 
bet  !  Please  sit  on  the  desk  top  and  help  me  consume 
the  banquet." 

"Do  you  call  that  a  banquet,  darling?"  he  demanded. 
"Come  out  to  the  Ritz  with  me  this  instant " 

"Dearest!  I  can't!  Oh,  you  don't  know  what  an 
exciting  and  interesting  mess  my  business  affairs  are 
in!  A  girl  always  has  to  pay  for  her  pleasure.  But 
in  this  case  it's  a  pleasure  to  pay.  Bring  up  that  chair 
and  share  my  luncheon  like  a  good  fellow,  so  we  can 
chat  together  for  a  few  minutes.  It's  all  the  time  I 
can  give  you  to-day,  dearest." 

He  pulled  up  a  chair  and  seated  himself,  experiencing 
somewhat  mixed  emotions  in  the  presence  of  such  be 
wildering  business  capability. 

"You  make  me  feel  embarrassed  and  ashamed,"  he 
said.  "Rotten  loafer  that  I  am!  And  you  so  ener 
getic  and  industrious — you  darling  thing!" 

"But,  dear,  your  farmer  can't  plow  frozen  ground, 
you  know;  all  your  men  can  do  just  now  is  to  mend 
fences  and  dump  fertiliser  and  lime  and  gypsum  over 
everything.  And  I  believe  they  were  doing  that  when 
I  left." 

"If,"  he  said,  "I  were  a  real  instead  of  a  phony 
farmer,  I'd  read  catalogues  about  wire  fences ;  I'd  find 
plenty  to  do  if  I  were  not  a  wretched  sham.  It's  only, 
I  hope,  because  you're  in  town  that  I  can't  drive  my 
self  back  where  I  belong.  I  ought  to  be  sitting  in  a 

307 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

wood-shed,  in  overalls,  whittling  sticks  and  yelling  bu 
colic  wisdom  at  Ezra  Vail Oh,  you  needn't  laugh, 

darling,  but  that's  where  I  ought  to  be,  and  what  I 
ought  to  be  doing  if  I'm  ever  going  to  support  a 
wife !" 

"Jim!  You're  not  going  to  support  a  wife!  You 
absurd  boy !" 

"What!"  he  demanded,  losing  countenance. 

"Did  you  think  you  were  obliged  to  support  me? 
How  ridiculous!  I'd  be  perfectly  miserable " 

"Jacqueline!  What  on  earth  do  you  mean?  We 
are  going  to  live  on  my  income." 

"Indeed  we  are  not !  What  use  would  I  be  to  you 
if  I  brought  you  nothing  except  an  idle,  useless,  lazy 
girl  to  support !  It's  unthinkable !" 

"Do  you  expect  to  remain  in  business?"  he  asked,  in 
credulously. 

"Certainly  I  expect  it !" 

"But— darling " 

"Jim !  I  love  my  business.  It  was  father's  business ; 
it  represents  my  childhood,  my  girlhood,  my  maturity. 
Every  detail  of  it  is  inextricably  linked  with  memories 
of  him — the  dearest  memories,  the  tenderest  associa 
tions  of  my  life!  Do  you  wish  me  to  give  them  up?" 

"How  can  you  be  my  wife,  Jacqueline,  and  still  re 
main  a  business  woman?" 

"Dear,  I  am  certainly  going  to  marry  you.  Permit 
me  to  arrange  the  rest.  It  will  not  interfere  with  my 
being  your  devoted  and  happy  wife.  It  wouldn't  ever 
interfere  with — with  my  being  a — a  perfectly  good 
mother — if  that's  what  you  fear.  If  it  did,  do  you  sup 
pose  I'd  hesitate  to  choose?" 

"No,"  he  said,  adoring  her. 
308 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Indeed,  I  wouldn't!  But  remaining  in  business  will 
give  me  what  every  girl  should  have  as  a  right — an  ob 
ject  in  life  apart  from  her  love  for  her  husband — and 
children — apart  from  her  proper  domestic  duties.  It 
is  her  right  to  engage  in  the  business  of  life;  it  makes 
the  contract  between  you  and  me  fairer.  I  love  you 
more  than  anything  in  the  world,  but  I  simply  couldn't 
keep  my  self-respect  and  depend  on  you  for  everything 
I  have." 

"But,  my  darling,  everything  I  have  is  already 
yours." 

"Yes,  I  know.  We  can  pretend  it  is.  I  know  I 
could  have  it — just  as  you  could  have  this  rather  com 
plicated  business  of  mine — if  you  want  it." 

"Oh,  Lord!"  he  exclaimed.  "Imagine  the  fury  of  a 
connoisseur  who  engaged  me  to  identify  his  priceless 
penates !" 

He  was  laughing,  too,  now.  They  had  finished  their 
fruit  salad  and  sherbet ;  she  lighted  a  cigarette  for  him, 
taking  a  dainty  puff  and  handing  it  to  him  with  an 
adorable  shudder. 

"I  don't  like  it !  I  don't  like  any  vices !  How  women 
can  enjoy  what  men  enjoy  is  a  mystery  to  me.  Smoke 
slowly,  darling,  because  when  that  cigarette  is  finished 
you  must  make  a  very  graceful  bow  and  say  good-bye 
to  me  until  to-morrow." 

"This  is  simply  devilish,  Jacqueline!  I  never  see 
you  any  more." 

"Nonsense!  You  have  plenty  to  do  to  amuse  you — 
haven't  you,  dear?" 

But  the  things  that  once  occupied  his  leisure  so  cas 
ually  and  so  agreeably  no  longer  attracted  him. 

"I  don't  want  to  read  seed  catalogues,"  he  pro- 
309 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

tested.  "Couldn't  I  be  of  use  to  you,  Jacqueline?  I'll 
do  anything  you  say — take  off  my  coat  and  sweep  out 
your  office,  or  go  behind  the  counter  in  the  shop  and 

sell  gilded  gods ' 

"Imagine  the  elegant  Mr.  Desboro  selling  antiquities 
to  the  dangerous  monomaniacs  who  haunt  such  shops 
as  mine!  Dear,  they'd  either  drive  you  crazy  or  have 
you  arrested  for  fraud  inside  of  ten  minutes.  No;  you 
will  make  a  perfectly  good  husband,  Jim,  but  you  were 
never  created  to  decorate  an  antique  shop." 

He  tried  to  smile,  but  only  flushed  rather  painfully. 
A  sudden  and  wholly  inexplicable  sense  of  inferiority 
possessed  him. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "I'm  not  going  to  stand  around 
idle  while  you  run  a  prosperous  business  concern.  And 
anyway,  I  can't  see  it,  Jacqueline.  You  and  I  are 
going  to  have  a  lot  of  social  obligations  to " 

"We  are  likely  to  have  all  kinds  of  obligations,"  she 
interrupted  serenely,  "and  our  lives  are  certain  to  be 
very  full,  and  you  and  I  are  going  to  be  equal  to  every 
opportunity,  every  demand,  every  responsibility — and 
still  have  leisure  to  love  each  other,  and  to  be  to  each 
other  everything  that  either  could  desire." 

"After  all,"  he  said,  serious  and  unconvinced,  "there 
are  only  twenty-four  hours  in  a  day  for  us  to  be  to 
gether." 

"Yes,  darling,  but  there  will  be  no  wasted  time  in 
those  twenty-four  hours.  That  is  where  we  save  a 
sufficient  number  of  minutes  to  attend  to  the  business 
of  life." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  intend  to  come  into  this  of 
fice  every  day?" 

"For   a   while,   yes.      Less   frequently   when   I  have 
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THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

trained  my  people  a  little  longer.  What  do  you  sup 
pose  my  father  was  doing  all  his  life?  What  do  you 
suppose  I  have  been  doing  these  last  three  years  ?  Why, 
Jim,  except  that  hitherto  I  have  loved  to  fuss  over 
details,  this  office  and  this  business  could  almost  run 
itself  for  six  months  at  a  time.  Some  day,  except  for 
special  clients  here  and  there,  Lionel  Sissly  will  do  what 
expert  work  I  now  am  doing ;  and  this  desk  will  be  his ; 
and  his  present  position  will  be  filled  by  Mr.  Mirk. 
That  is  how  it  is  planned.  And  if  you  had  given  me 
two  or  three  months,  I  might  have  been  able  to  go  on 
a  bridal  trip  with  you !" 

"We  are  going,  aren't  we?"   he  asked,   appalled. 

"If  Fve  got  to  marry  you  offhand,"  she  said  seri 
ously,  "our  wedding  trip  will  have  to  wait.  Don't  you 
know,  dear,  that  it  always  costs  heavily  to  do  anything 
in  a  hurry?  At  this  time  of  year,  and  under  the  pres 
ent  conditions  of  business,  and  considering  my  con 
tracts  and  obligations,  it  would  be  utterly  impossible 
for  me  to  go  away  again  until  summer." 

He  sprang  up  irritated,  yet  feeling  utterly  helpless 
under  her  friendly  but  level  gaze.  Already  he  began 
to  realise  the  true  significance  of  her  position  and  his 
own  in  the  world ;  how  utterly  at  a  moral  disadvantage 
he  stood  before  this  young  girl — moral,  intellectual, 
spiritual — he  was  beginning  to  comprehend  it  all  now. 

A  dull  flush  of  anger  made  his  face  hot  and  altered 
his  expression  to  sullenness.  Where  was  all  this  lead 
ing  them,  anyway — this  reversal  of  roles,  this  self- 
dependent  attitude  of  hers — this  calm  self-reliance — 
this  freedom  of  decision? 

Once  he  had  supposed  there  was  something  in  her  to 
protect,  to  guide,  advise,  make  allowance  for — perhaps- 

311 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

to  persuade,  possibly,  even,  to  instruct.  Such  has  been 
the  immemorial  attitude  of  man;  it  had  been  instinct 
ively,  and  more  or  less  unconsciously,  his. 

And  now,  in  spite  of  her  youth,  her  soft  pliability, 
her  almost  childish  grace  and  beauty,  he  was  experi 
encing  a  half-dazed  sensation  as  though,  in  full  and 
confident  career,  he  had  come,  slap !  into  collision  with 
an  occult  barrier.  And  the  impact  was  confusing  him 
and  even  beginning  to  hurt  him. 

He  looked  around  him  uneasily.  Everything  in  the 
office,  somehow,  seemed  to  be  in  subtle  league  writh  her  to 
irritate  him — her  desk,  her  loaded  letter-files,  her  stacks 
of  ledgers — all  these  accused  and  offended  him.  But 
most  of  all  his  own  helpless  inferiority  made  him  angry 
and  ashamed — the  inferiority  of  idleness  confronted 
by  industry ;  of  aimlessness  face  to  face  with  purpose ; 
of  irresolution  and  degeneracy  scrutinised  by  fearless 
ness,  confidence,  and  happy  and  innocent  aspiration. 
And  the  combination  silenced  him. 

And  every  mute  second  that  he  stood  there,  he  felt 
as  though  something  imperceptible,  intangible,  was 
slipping  away  from  him — perhaps  his  man's  immemorial 
right  to  lead,  to  decide,  to  direct  the  common  des 
tiny  of  this  slim,  sweet-lipped  young  girl  and  him 
self. 

For  it  wras  she  who  was  serenely  deciding — who  had 
already  laid  out  the  business  of  life  for  herself  with 
out  hesitation,  without  resort  to  him,  to  his  man's  wis 
dom,  experience,  prejudices,  wishes,  desires.  More 
over,  she  was  leaving  him  absolutely  free  to  decide  his 
own  business  in  life  for  himself;  and  that  made  her 
position  unassailable.  For  if  she  had  presumed  to  ad 
vise  him,  to  suggest,  even  hint  at  anything  interfering 

312 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

with  his  own  personal  liberty  to  decide  for  himself, 
he  might  have  found  some  foothold,  some  niche,  some 
thing  to  sustain  him,  to  justify  him,  in  assuming  man's 
immemorial  right  to  leadership. 

"Dear,"  she  said  wistfully,  "you  look  at  me  with 
such  very  troubled  eyes.  Is  there  anything  I  have 
said  that  you  disapprove?" 

"I  had  not  expected  you  to  remain  in  business,"  was 
all  he  found  to  say.  . 

"If  my  remaining  in  business  ever  interferes  with 
your  happiness  or  with  my  duty  to  you,  I  will  give  it 
up.  You  know  that,  don't  you?" 

He  reddened  again. 

"It  looks  queer,"  he  muttered,  " — your  being  in  busi 
ness  and  I — playing  farmer — like  one  of  those  loafing 
husbands  of  celebrated  actresses." 

"Jim!"  she  exclaimed,  scarlet  to  the  ears.  "What 
a  horrid  simile!" 

"It's  myself  I'm  cursing  out,"  he  said,  almost  an 
grily.  "I  can't  cut  such  a  figure.  Don't  you  under 
stand,  Jacqueline?  I  haven't  anything  to  occupy  me! 
Do  you  expect  me  to  hang  around  somewhere  while 
you  work?  I  tell  you,  I've  got  to  find  something  to 
do  as  soon  as  we're  married — or  I  couldn't  look  you 
in  the  face." 

"That  is  for  you  to  decide.  Isn't  it?"  she  asked 
sweetly. 

"Yes,  but  on  what  am  I  to  decide?" 

"Whatever  you  decide,  don't  do  it  in  a  hurry,  dear," 
she  said,  smiling. 

The  sullen  sense  of  resentment  returned,  reddening 
his  face  again : 

"I  wouldn't  have  to  hurry  if  you'd  give  up  this 
313 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

business  and  live  on  our  income  and  be  free  to  travel 
and  knock  about  with  me " 

"Can't  you  understand  that  I  will  be  free  to  be  with 
you — free  in  mind,  in  conscience,  in  body,  to  travel 
with  you,  be  with  you,  be  to  you  whatever  you  desire 
— but  only  if  I  keep  my  self-respect!  And  I  can't 
keep  that  if  I  neglect  the  business  of  life,  which,  in  my 
case,  lies  partly  here  in  this  office." 

She.  rose  and  laid  one  slim,  pretty  hand  on  his  shoul 
der.  She  rarely  permitted  herself  to  touch  him  volun 
tarily. 

"Don't  you  wish  me  to  be  happy?"  she  asked  gently. 

"It's  all  I  wish  in  the  world,  Jacqueline." 

"But  I  couldn't  be  happy  and  remain  idle;  remain 
dependent  on  you  for  anything — except  love.  Life  to 
the  full — every  moment  filled — that  is  what  living  means 
to  me.  And  only  one  single  thing  never  can  fill  one's 
life — not  intellectual  research  alone;  not  spiritual  re 
moteness;  nor  yet  the  pursuit  of  pleasure;  nor  the 
swift  and  endless  hunt  for  happiness ;  nor  even  love, 
dearest  among  men!  Only  the  business  of  life  can 
quite  fill  life  to  the  brimming  for  me ;  and  that  business 
is  made  up  of  everything  worthy — of  the  pleasures  of 
effort,  duty,  aspiration,  and  noble  repose,  but  never  of 
the  pleasures  of  idleness.  Jim,  have  I  bored  you  with 
a  sermon?  Forgive  me;  I  am  preaching  only  to  in 
struct  myself." 

He  took  her  hand  from  his  shoulder  and  stood  hold 
ing  it  and  looking  at  her  with  a  strange  expression. 
So  dazed,  yet  so  terribly  intent  he  seemed  at  moments 
that  she  laid  her  other  hand  over  his,  pressing  it  in 
smiling  anxiety. 

"What  is  it,  dearest?"  she  murmured.     "Don't  you 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

approve  of  me  as  much  as  you  thought  you  did?  Am 
I  disappointing  you  already?" 

"Good  God !"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "If  there  is 
a  heaven,  and  your  sort  inhabit  it,  hell  was  reformed 
long  ago." 

"What  are  you  muttering  all  to  yourself,  Jim?"  she 
insisted.  "What  troubles  you?" 

"I'll  tell  you.  You've  picked  the  wrong  man.  I'm 
absolutely  unfit  for  you.  I  know  about  all  those  de 
cent  things  you  believe  in — all  the  things  you  are! 
But  I  don't  know  about  them  from  personal  experience ; 
I  never  did  anything  decent  because  it  was  my  duty 
to  do  it — except  by  accident.  I  never  took  a  spiritual 
interest  in  anything  or  anybody,  including  myself!  I 
never  made  a  worthy  effort;  I  never  earned  one  sec 
ond's  worth  of  noble  repose.  And  now — if  there's  any 
thing  in  me  to  begin  on — it's  probably  my  duty  to  re 
lease  you  until  I  have  made  something  of  myself,  before 
I  come  whining  around  asking  you  to  marry  a  man  not 
fit  to  marry " 

"My  darling!"  she  protested,  half  laughing,  half  in 
tears,  and  closing  his  angry  lips  with  both  her  hands. 
"I  want  you,  not  a  saint  or  a  holy  man,  or  an  arch 
angel  fresh  from  paradise !  I  want  you  as  you  are — as 
you  have  been — as  you  are  going  to  be  dear !  Did  any 
girl  who  ever  lived  find  pleasure  in  perfection?  Even 
in  art  it  is  undesirable.  That's  the  beauty  of  aspira 
tion ;  the  pleasures  of  effort  never  pall.  I  don't  know 
whether  I'm  laughing  or  crying,  Jim!  You  look  so 
solemn  and  miserable,  and — and  funny !  But  if  you 
try  to  look  dignified  now,  I'll  certainly  laugh!  You 
dear,  blessed,  overgrown  boy — just  as  bad  as  you  pos 
sibly  can  be!  Just  as  funny  and  unreasonable  and  per- 

315 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

verse  as  are  all  boys !  But  Jacqueline  loves  you  dearly 
— oh,  dearly — and  she  trusts  you  with  her  heart  and 
her  happiness  and  with  every  beauty  yet  undreamed 
and  unrevealed  that  a  girl  could  learn  to  desire  on 
earth !  Are  you  contented  ?  Oh,  Jim  !  Jim  !  If  you 
knew  how  I  adore  you !  You  must  go,  dear.  It  will 
mean  a  long  night's  work  for  me  if  you  don't.  But 
it's  so  hard  to  let  you  go — when  I — love  you  so !  When 
I  love  you  so !  Good-bye.  Yes,  to-morrow.  Don't 
call  at  noon ;  Mrs.  Hammerton  is  coming  for  a  five- 
minute  chat.  And  I  do  want  you  to  myself  for  the 
few  moments  we  may  have  together.  Come  about  five 
and  we  can  have  tea  here  beside  my  desk." 

He  came  next  day  at  five.  The  day  after  that  he 
arrived  at  the  same  hour,  bringing  with  him  her  ring; 
and,  as  he  slipped  it  over  her  finger,  for  the  first  time 
her  self-control  slipped,  too,  and  she  bent  swiftly  and 
kissed  the  jewel  that  he  was  holding. 

Then,  flushed  and  abashed,  she  shrank  away,  an  ex 
quisite  picture  of  confusion,  and  stood  turning  and 
turning  the  ring  around,  her  head  obstinately  lowered, 
absolutely  unresponsive  again  to  his  arm  around  her 
and  his  cheek  resting  close  against  hers. 

"What  a  beauty  of  a  ring,  Jim!"  she  managed  to 
say  at  last.  "No  other  engagement  ring  ever  existed 
half  as  lovely  and  splendid  as  my  betrothal  ring.  I 
am  sorry  for  all  the  empresses  and  queens  and  prin 
cesses  who  can  never  hope  to  possess  a  ring  to 
equal  the  ring  of  Jacqueline  Nevers,  dealer  in  an 
tiquities." 

"Nor  can  they  hope  to  possess  such  a  hand  to  adorn 
it,"  he  said,  " — the  most  beautiful,  the  purest,  whitest, 

316 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

softest,  most  innocent  hand  in  the  world !  The  magic 
hand  of  Jacqueline !" 

"Do  you  like  it?"  she  asked,  shyly  conscious  of  its 
beauty. 

"It  is  matchless,  darling.  Let  empresses  shriek  with 
envy." 

"I'm  listening  very  intently,  but  I  don't  hear  them, 
Jim.  Also,  I've  seen  a  shop-girl  with  far  lovelier  hands. 
But  please  go  on  thinking  so  and  hearing  crowned 
heads  shriek.  I  rather  like  your  imagination." 

He  laughed  from  sheer  happiness: 

"I've  got  something  to  whisper  to  you.     Shall  I?" 

"What?" 

"Shall  I  whisper  it?" 

She  inclined  her  small  head  daintily,  then: 

"Oh !"  she  exclaimed,  startled  and  blushing  to  the  tips 
of  her  ears. 

"Will  you  be  ready?" 

"I— yes.     Yes— I'll  be  ready " 

"Does  it  make  you  happy?" 

"I  can't  realise — I  didn't  know  it  was  to  be  so  soon 
— so  immediate " 

"We'll  go  to  Silverwood.  We  can  catch  the  evening 
express " 

"Dearest !" 

"You  can  go  away  with  me  for  one  week,  can't 
you?" 

"I  can't  go  now!"  she  faltered. 

"For  how  long  can  you  go,  Jacqueline?" 

"I — I've  got  to  be  back  on  Tuesday  morning." 

"Tuesday !" 

"Isn't  it  dreadful,  Jim.  But  I  can't  avoid  it  if  we 
are  to  be  married  on  Monday  next.  I  must  deal  hon- 

317 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

ourably  by  my  clients  who  trust  me.  I  warned  you  that 
our  wedding  trip  would  have  to  be  postponed  if  you 
married  me  this  way — didn't  I,  dear?" 

"Yes." 

She  stood  looking  at  him  timidly,  almost  fearfully, 
as  he  took  two  or  three  quick,  nervous  steps  across  the 
floor,  turned  and  came  back  to  her. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "Our  wedding  trip  will  have 
to  wait,  then;  but  our  wedding  won't.  We'll  be  mar 
ried  Monday,  go  to  Silverwood,  and  come  back  Tues 
day — if  it's  a  matter  of  honour.  I  never  again  mean 
to  interfere  with  your  life's  business,  Jacqueline.  You 
know  what  is  best ;  you  are  free  and  entitled  to  the  right 
of  decision." 

"Yes.  But  because  I  must  decide  about  things  that 
concern  myself  alone,  you  don't  think  I  adore  you  any 
the  less,  do  you,  Jim?" 

"Nor  do  I  love  you  the  less,  Jacqueline,  because  I 
can  decide  nothing  for  you,  do  nothing  for  you." 

"Jim !  You  can  decide  everything  for  me — do  every 
thing  !  And  you  have  done  everything  for  me — by  giv 
ing  me  my  freedom  to  decide  for  myself!" 

"/  gave  it  to  you,  Jacqueline?" 

"Did  you  think  I  would  have  taken  it  if  you  had 
refused  it?" 

"But  you  said  your  happiness  depended  on  it." 

"Which  is  why  you  gave  it  to  me,  isn't  it?"  she  asked 
seriously. 

He  laughed.  "You  wonderful  girl,  to  make  me  be 
lieve  that  any  generosity  of  mine  is  responsible  for  your 
freedom !" 

"But  it  is !  Otherwise,  I  would  have  obeyed  you 
and  been  disgraced  in  my  own  estimation." 

318 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Do  you  mean  that  mine  is  to  be  the  final  decision 
always?" 

"Why,  of  course,  Jim." 

He  laughed  again.  "Empty  authority,  dear — a 
shadowy  symbol  of  traditional  but  obsolete  preroga 
tive." 

"You  are  wrong.  Your  decision  is  final.  But — as  I 
know  it  will  always  be  for  my  happiness,  I  can  always 
appeal  from  your  prejudice  to  your  intelligence,"  she 
added  naively.  And  for  a  moment  was  surprised  at  his 
unrestrained  laughter. 

"What  does  it  matter?"  she  admitted,  laughing,  too. 
"Between  you  and  me  the  right  thing  always  will  be 
done  sooner  or  later." 

His  laughter  died  out;  he  said  soberly:  "Always, 
God  willing.  It  may  be  a  little  hard  for  me  to 
learn — as  it's  hard,  now,  for  example,  to  say  good 
bye." 

"Jim!" 

"You  know  I  must,  darling." 

"But  I  don't  mind  sitting  up  a  few  minutes  later  to 
night- 

"I  know  you  don't.  But  here's  where  I  exercise  my 
harmlessly  arbitrary  authority  for  your  happiness  and 
for  the  sake  of  your  good  digestion." 

"What  a  brute  you  are !" 

"I  know  it.  Back  to  your  desk,  darling!  And  go 
to  bed  early." 

"I  wanted  you  to  stay " 

"Ha !  So  you  begin  to  feel  the  tyranny  of  man  f 
I'm  going!  I've  got  a  job,  too,  if  you  want  to  know." 

"What!" 

"Certainly  !  How  long  did  you  suppose  I  could  stand 
319 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

it  to  see  you  at  that  desk  and  then  go  and  sit  in  a 
silly  club?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  darling?"  she  asked,  radiant. 

"I  mean  that  Jack  Cairns,  who  is  a  broker,  has  of 
fered  me  a  job  at  a  small  but  perfectly  proper  salary, 
with  the  usual  commission  on  all  business  I  bring  in 
to  the  office.  And  I've  taken  it!" 

"But,  dear " 

"Oh,  Vail  can  run  my  farm  without  any  advice  from 
me.  I'm  going  to  give  him  more  authority  and  hold 
him  responsible.  If  the  place  can  pay  for  itself  and 
let  us  keep  the  armour  and  jades,  that's  all  I  ask  of  it. 
But  I  am  asking  more  of  myself — since  I  have  begun 
to  really  know  you.  And  I'm  going  to  work  for  our 
bread  and  butter,  and  earn  enough  to  support  us  both 
and  lay  something  aside.  You  know  we've  got  to  think 
of  that,  because "  He  looked  very  serious,  hesi 
tated,  bent  and  whispered  something  that  sent  the 
bright  colour  flying  in  her  cheeks ;  then  he  caught  her 
hand  and  kissed  the  ring-finger. 

"Good-bye,"  she  murmured,  clinging  for  an  instant 
to  his  hand. 

The  next  moment  he  was  gone;  and  she  stood  alone 
for  a  while  by  her  desk,  his  ring  resting  against  her 
lips,  her  eyes  closed. 

Sunday  she  spent  with  him.  They  went  together  to 
St.  John's  Cathedral  in  the  morning — the  first  time 
he  had  been  inside  a  church  in  years.  And  he  was  in 
considerable  awe  of  the  place  and  of  her  until  they 
finally  emerged  into  the  sunshine  of  Morningside 
Park. 

Under  a  magnificent  and  cloudless  sky,  they  walked 
320 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

together,  silent  or  loquacious  by  turns,  bold  and  shy, 
confident  and  timid.  And  she  was  a  little  surprised  to 
find  that,  in  the  imminence  of  marriage,  her  trepidation 
was  composure  itself  compared  to  the  anxiety  which1 
seemed  to  assail  him.  All  he  had  thought  of  was  the 
license  and  the  clergyman ;  and  they  had  attended  to 
those  matters  together.  But  she  had  wished  him  to 
have  Jack  Cairns  present,  and  had  told  him  that  she 
desired  to  ask  some  friend  of  her  girlhood  to  be  her 
bridesmaid. 

"Have  you  done  so?"  he  inquired,  as  they  descended 
the  heights  of  Morningside,  the  beautiful  weather 
tempting  them  to  a  long  homeward  stroll  through  Cen 
tral  Park. 

"Yes,  Jim,  I  must  tell  you  about  her.  She,  like  my 
self,  is  not  a  girl  that  men  of  your  sort  might  expect 
to  meet " 

"The  loss  is  ours,  Jacqueline." 

"That  is  very  sweet  of  you.  Only  I  had  better  tell 
you  about  Cynthia  Lessler " 

"Who?"  he  asked,  astonished. 

"Cynthia  Lessler,  my  girlhood  friend." 

"She  is  an  actress,  isn't  she?" 

"Yes.  Her  home  life  was  very  unhappy.  But  I 
think,  she  has  much  talent,  too." 

"She  has." 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so.  Anyway,  she  is  my  oldest 
friend,  and  I  have  asked  her  to  be  my  bridesmaid  to 
morrow." 

He  continued  silent  beside  her  so  long  that  she  said 
timidly : 

"Do  you  mind,  Jim?" 

"I  was  only  thinking — how  it  might  look  in  the  pa- 
321 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

pers — and  there  are  other  girls  you  already  know  whose 
names  would  mean  a  lot " 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  I  don't  want  to  pretend  to  be  what 
I  am  not,  even  in  the  papers.  I  suppose  I  do  need  all 
the  social  corroboration  I  can  have.  I  know  what  you 
mean,  dear.  But  there  were  reasons.  I  thought  it 
all  over.  Cynthia  is  an  old  friend,  not  very  happy,  not 
the  fortunate  and  blessed  girl  that  your  love  is  mak 
ing  of  me.  But  she  is  good  and  sweet  and  loyal  to 
me,  and  I  can't  abandon  old  friends,  especially  one  who 
is  not  very  fortunate — and  I — I  thought  perhaps  it 
might  help  her  a  little — in  various  ways — to  be  my 
bridesmaid." 

"That  is  like  you,"  he  said,  reddening.  "You  never 
say  or  do  anything  but  there  lies  in  it  some  primary 
lesson  in  decency  to  me." 

"You  goose !  Isn't  it  natural  for  a  girl  to  wish  for 
her  oldest  friend  at  such  a  time?  That's  really  all 
there  is  to  the  matter.  And  I  do  hope  you  will  like 
Cynthia." 

He  nodded,  preoccupied.  After  a  few  moments  he 
said: 

"Did  you  know  that  Jack  Cairns  had  met  her?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh!"     His  troubled  eyes  sought  hers,  then  shi/ted. 

"That  was  another  reason  I  wish  to  ask  her,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice. 

"What  reason?" 

"Because  Mr.  Cairns  knew  her  only  as  a  very  young, 
very  lonely,  very  unhappy  girl,  inexperienced,  friend 
less,  poor,  almost  shelterless;  and  engaged  in  a  pro 
fession  upon  which  it  is  almost  traditional  for  men  to 
prey.  And  I  wish  him  to  know  her  again  as  a  girl  who 

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THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

is  >  slowly  advancing  in  an  honest  profession — as 
a  modest,  sweet,  self-respecting  woman — and  as  my 
friend." 

"And  mine-,"  he  said. 

"You — darling !"  she  whispered. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THEY    were    married     in     the    morning    at     St. 
George's  in   Stuyvesant  Square. 

Gay  little  flurries  of  snow,  like  wind-blown 
petals  from  an  apple  bough,  were  turning  golden  in 
the  warm  outbreak  of  brilliant  sunshine ;  and  there  was 
blue  sky  overhead  and  shining  wet  pavements  under 
foot  as  Jacqueline  and  Desboro  came  out  of  the  shad 
ows  of  the  old-time  church  into  the  fresh  splendour 
of  the  early  morning. 

The  solemn  beauty  of  the  service  still  possessed  and 
enthralled  them.  Except  for  a  low  word  or  two,  they 
were  inclined  to  silence. 

But  the  mating  sparrows  were  not ;  everywhere  the 
little  things,  brown  wings  a-quiver,  chattered  and 
chirped  in  the  throes  of  courtship ;  now  and  then,  from 
some  high  fa£ade  rang  out  the  clear,  sweet  whistle  of 
a  starling;  and  along  the  warm,  wet  streets  ragged 
children  were  selling  violets  and  narcissus,  and  yellow 
tulips  tinted  as  delicately  as  the  pale  spring  sunshine. 

A  ragged  little  girl  came  to  stare  at  Jacqueline,  the 
last  unsold  bunch  of  wilted  violets  lying  on  her  tray ; 
and  Jacqueline  laid  the  cluster  over  the  prayer-book 
which  she  was  carrying,  while  Desboro  slipped  a  golden 
coin  into  the  child's  soiled  hand. 

Down  the  street  his  chauffeur  was  cranking  the  car ; 
and  while  they  waited  for  it  to  draw  up  along  the 

324 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

curb,  Jacqueline  separated  a  few  violets  from  the 
faintly  fragrant  cluster  and  placed  them  between  the 
leaves  of  her  prayer-book. 

After  a  few  moments  he  said,  under  his  breath : 

"Do  you  realise  that  we  are  married,  Jacqueline?" 

"No.     Do  you?" 

"I'm  trying  to  comprehend  it,  but  I  can't  seem  to. 
How  soft  the  breeze  blows !  It  is  already  spring  in 
Stuyvesant  Square." 

"The   Square  is   lovely !      They   will   be  setting   out 
hyacinths     soon,     I     think."        She     shivered.        "It's 
strange,"    she    said,    "but    I    feel    rather    cold.      Am   I 
horridly   pale,    Jim?" 

"You  are  a  trifle  colourless — but  even  prettier  than 
I  ever  saw  you,"  he  whispered,  turning  up  the  collar 
of  her  fur  coat  around  her  throat.  "You  haven't 
taken  cold,  have  you?" 

"No  ;  it  is — natural — I  suppose.  Miracles  frighten 
one  at  first."  • 

Their  eyes  met;  she  tried  to  smile.  After  a  moment 
he  said  nervously: 

"I  sent  out  the  announcements.  The  evening  papers 
will  have  them." 

"I  want  to  see  them,  Jim." 

"You  shall.  I  have  ordered  all  this  evening's  and 
to-morrow  morning's  papers.  They  will  be  sent  to 
Silverwood." 

The  car  rolled  up  along  the  curb  and  stopped. 

"Can't  I  take  you  to  your  office?"  he  whispered. 

"No,  dear." 

She  laid  one  slim  hand  on  his  arm  and  stood  for  a 
moment  looking  at  him. 

"How  pale  you  are !"  he  said  again,  under  his  breath. 
325 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Brides  are  apt  to  be.  It's  only  a  swift  and  con 
fused  dream  to  me  yet — all  that  has  happened  to  us 
to-day;  and  even  this  sunshine  seems  unreal — like  the 
first  day  of  spring  in  paradise !" 

She  bent  her  proud  little  head  and  stood  in  silence 
as  though  unseen  hands  still  hovered  above  her,  and 
unseen  lips  were  still  pronouncing  her  his  wife.  Then, 
lifting  her  eyes,  winningly  and  divinely  beautiful,  she 
looked  again  on  this  man  whom  the  world  was  to  call 
her  husband. 

"Will  you  be  ready  at  five?"  he  whispered. 

"Yes."' 

They  lingered  a  moment  longer;  he  said: 

"I  don't  know  how  I  am  going  to  endure  life  without 
you  until  five  o'clock." 

She  said  seriously:  "I  can't  bear  to  leave  you,  Jim. 
But  you  know  you  have  almost  as  many  things  to 
do  as  I  have." 

"As  though  a  man  could  attend  to  things  on  his 
wedding  day !" 

"This  girl  has  to.  I  don't  know  how  I  am  ever  go 
ing  to  go  through  the  last  odds  and  ends  of  business — 
but  it's  got  to  be  managed  somehow.  Do  you  really 
think  we  had  better  go  up  to  Silverwood  in  the  car? 
Won't  this  snow  make  the  roads  bad?  It  may  not  have 
melted  in  the  country." 

"Oh,  it's  all  right !  And  I'll  have  you  to  myself  in 
the  car " 

"Suppose  we  are  ditched?"  She  shivered  again,  then 
forced  a  little  laugh.  "Do  you  know,  it  doesn't  seem 
possible  to  me  that  I  am  going  to  be  your  wife  to 
morrow,  too,  and  the  next  day,  and  the  next,  and  al 
ways,  year  after  year.  Somehow,  it  seems  as  though 

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THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

our  dream  were  already  ending — that  I  shall  not  see 
you  at  five  o'clock — that  it  is  all  unreal " 

The  smile  faded,  and  into  her  blue  eyes  came  some 
thing  resembling  fear — gone  instantly — but  the  hint 
of  it  had  been  there,  whatever  it  was ;  and  the  ghost  of 
it  still  lingered  in  her  white,  flower-like  face. 

She  whispered,  forcing  the  smile  again:  "Happi 
ness  sometimes  frightens;  and  it  is  making  me  a  little 
afraid,  I  think.  Come  for  me  at  five,  Jim,  and  try  to 
make  me  comprehend  that  nothing  in  the  world  can 
ever  harm  us.  Tell  your  man  where  to  take  me — but 
only  to  the  corner  of  my  street,  please." 

He  opened  the  limousine  door;  she  stepped  in,  and 
he  wrapped  the  robe  around  her.  A  cloud  over  the  sun 
had  turned  the  world  grey  for  a  moment.  Again  she 
seemed  to  feel  the  sudden  chill  in  the  air,  and  tried  to 
shake  it  off. 

"Look  at  Mr.  Cairns  and  Cynthia,"  she  whispered, 
leaning  forward  from  her  seat  and  looking  toward  the 
church. 

He  turned.  Cairns  and  Miss  Lessler  had  emerged 
from  the  portico  and  were  lingering  there  in  earnest 
consultation,  quite  oblivious  of  them. 

"Do  you  like  her,  Jim?"  she  asked. 

He  smiled. 

"I  didn't  notice  her  very  much — or  Jack  either.  A 
man  isn't  likely  to  notice  anybody  at  such  a  time — • 
except  the  girl  he  is  marrying L" 

"Look  at  her  now.  Don't  you  think  her  expression 
is  very  sweet?" 

"It's  all  right.  Dear,  do  you  suppose  I  can  fix  my 
attention  on " 

"You  absurd  boy!  Are  you  really  as  much  in  love 
327 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

with  me  as  that?  Please  be  nice  to  her.  Would  you 
mind  going  back  and  speaking  to  her  when  I  drive 
away  ?" 

"All  right,"  he  said. 

Their  glances  lingered  for  a  moment  more;  then 
he  drew  a  quick,  sharp  breath,  closed  the  limousine 
door,  and  spoke  briefly  to  the  chauffeur. 

As  long  as  the  car  remained  in  sight  across  the 
square,  he  watched  it;  then,  when  it  had  disappeared, 
he  turned  toward  the  church.  But  Cairns  and  Cyn 
thia  were  already  far  down  the  street,  walking  side 
by  side,  very  leisurely,  apparently  absorbed  in  con 
versation.  They  must  have  seen  him.  Perhaps  they 
had  something  more  interesting  to  say  to  each  other 
than  to  him. 

He  followed  them  irresolutely  for  a  few  steps,  then, 
as  the  idea  persisted  that  they  might  not  desire  his 
company,  he  turned  and  started  west  across  the  sunny, 
wet  pavement. 

It  was  quite  true  that  Cairns  and  Cynthia  had  seen 
him ;  also  it  was  a  fact  that  neither  had  particularly 
wanted  him  to  join  them  at  that  exact  moment. 

Meeting  at  St.  George's  for  the  first  time  in  two 
years,  and  although  prepared  for  the  encounter,  these 
two,  who  had  once  known  each  other  so  well,  experienced 
a  slight  shock  when  they  met.  The  momentary  con 
tact  of  her  outstretched  hand  and  his  hand  left  them 
both  very  silent;  even  the  formal  commonplaces  had 
failed  them  after  the  first  swift,  curious  glance  had 
been  exchanged. 

Cairns  noticed  that  she  had  grown  taller  and  slen 
derer.  And  though  there  seemed  to  be  no  more  of 

328 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

maturity  to  her  than  to  the  young  girl  he  had  once 
known,  her  poise  and  self-control  were  now  in  marked 
contrast  to  the  impulsive  and  slightly  nervous  Cynthia 
he  had  found  so  amusing  in  callower  days. 

Once  or  twice  during  the  ceremony  he  had  ventured 
to  glance  sideways  at  her.  In  the  golden  half-light  of 
the  altar  there  seemed  to  be  an  unfamiliar  dignity  and 
sweetness  about  the  girl  that  became  her.  And  in  the 
delicate  oval  of  her  face  he  thought  he  discerned  those 
finer,  nobler  contours  made  by  endurance,  by  self-denial, 
and  by  sorrow. 

Later,  when  he  saw  her  kiss  Jacqueline,  something 
in  the  sweet  sincerity  of  the  salute  suddenly  set  a 
hidden  chord  vibrating  within  him ;  and,  to  his  surprise, 
he  found  speech  difficult  for  a  moment,  checked  by  emo 
tions  for  which  there  seemed  no  reason. 

And  at  last  Jacqueline  and  Desboro  went  away,  and 
Cynthia  slowly  turned  to  him,  offering  her  hand  in 
adieu. 

"Mr.  Cairns,"  she  said  quietly,  "this  is  the  last  place 
on  earth  that  you  and  I  ever  thought  to  meet.  Per 
haps  it  is  to  be  our  last  meeting  place.  So — I  will 
say  good-bye " 

"May  I  not  walk  home  with  you?  Or,  if  you  prefer 
to  drive,  my  car  is  here "  he  began. 

"Thank  you;  it's  only  to  the  theatre — if  you  care 
to  walk  with  me " 

"Are  you  rehearsing?" 

"There  is  a  rehearsal  called  for  eleven." 

"Shall  we  drive  or  walk,  Cynthia?" 

"I  prefer  to  walk.  Please  don't  feel  that  you  ought 
to  go  back  with  me." 

He  said,  reddening:  "I  do  not  remember  that  my 
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THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

sense  of  duty  toward  you  has  ever  been  persistent 
enough  to  embarrass  either  of  us." 

"Of  course  not.  Why  should  you  ever  have  felt  that 
you  owed  any  duty  to  me?" 

"I  did  not  say  that  I  ever  felt  it." 

"Of  course  not.     You  owed  me  none." 

"That  is  a  different  matter.  Obligations  once  sat 
very  lightly  on  my  shoulders." 

"You  owe  me  none,"  she  repeated  smilingly,  as  they 
emerged  from  the  church  into  the  warm  March  sun 
shine. 

He  was  saying:  "But  isn't  friendship  an  obliga 
tion,  Cynthia?" 

She  laughed:  "Friendship  is  merely  an  imaginary 
creation,  and  exists  only  until  the  imagination  wearies. 
That  is  not  original,"  she  added.  "It  is  in  the  new 
Barrie  comedy  we  are  rehearsing." 

She  turned  her  pretty  head  and  glanced  down  the 
street  where  Jacqueline  and  Desboro  still  stood  beside 
the  car.  Cairn's  car  was  also  waiting,  and  its  owner 
made  a  signal  to  the  chauffeur  that  he  did  not  need 
him. 

Looking  at  Jacqueline,  Cynthia  said: 

"Long  ago  I  knew  that  she  was  fitted  for  a  mar 
riage  such  as  this — or  a  better  one,"  she  added  in  a 
lower  voice. 

"A  better  one?"  he  repeated,  surprised. 

"Yes,"  she  nodded  calmly.  "Can  you  not  imagine 
a  more  desirable  marriage  for  a  girl?" 

"Don't  you  like  Desboro?"  he  demanded. 

"I  like  him — considering  the  fact  that  I  scarcely 
know  him.  He  has  very  handsome  and  very  reckless 
eyes,  but  a  good  mouth.  To  look  at  him  for  the  first 

330 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

time  a  woman  would  be  inclined  to  like  him — but  he 
might  hesitate  to  trust  him.  I  had  hoped  Jacqueline 
might  marry  a  professional  man — considerably  older 
than  Mr.  Desboro.  That  is  all  I  meant." 

He  said,  looking  at  her  smilingly  but  curiously: 
"Have  you  any  idea,  Cynthia,  how  entirely  you  have 
changed  in  two  years?" 

She  shook  her  head:     "I  haven't  changed." 

"Indeed  you  have " 

"Only  superficially.  What  I  was  born  I  shall  al 
ways  be.  Years  teach  endurance  and  self-control — if 
they  teach  anything.  All  one  can  learn  is  how  to  con 
trol  and  direct  what  one  already  is." 

"The  years  have  taught  you  a  lot,"  he  murmured, 
astonished. 

"I  have  been  to  school  to  many  masters,  Mr.  Cairns ; 
I  have  studied  under  Sorrow ;  graduated  under  Pov 
erty  and  Loneliness ;  and  I  am  now  taking  a  finishing 
course  with  Experience.  Truly  enough,  I  should  have 
learned  something,  as  you  say,  by  this  time.  Besides, 
you,  also,  once  were  kind  enough  to  be  interested  in 
my  education.  Why  should  I  not  have  learned  some 
thing?" 

He  winced  and  bit  his  lip,  watching  Desboro  and 
Jacqueline  below.  And,  after  a  moment: 

"Shall  we  walk?"   she  suggested,  smilingly. 

He  fell  into  step  beside  her.  Half  way  down  the 
block  she  glanced  back.  Desboro  was  already  crossing 
the  square;  the  limousine  had  disappeared. 

"I  wonder  sometimes,"  she  remarked,  "what  has  be 
come  of  all  those  amusing  people  we  once  knew  so 
well — Marianne  Valdez,  Jessie  Dain,  Reggie  Ledyard, 
Van  Alstyne.  Do  you  ever  see  them  any  more?" 

331 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Yes." 

"And  are  they  quite  as  gay  and  crazy  as  ever?" 

"They're  a   bit  wild — sometimes." 

"Do  they  ever  speak  of  me  ?  I — wonder,"  she  mused, 
aloud. 

"Yes.  They  know,  of  course,  what  a  clever  girl 
you  have  turned  into.  It  isn't  usual,  you  know,  to 
graduate  from  a  girlie  show  into  the  legit.  And  I  was 
talking  to  Schindler  the  other  evening;  and  he  had 
to  admit  that  he  had  seen  nothing  extraordinary  in  you 
when  you  wrere  with  his  noisy  shows.  It's  funny,  isn't 
it?" 

"Slightly." 

"Besides,  you  were  such  a  wild  little  thing — don't  you 
remember  what  crazy  things  wre  used  to  do,  you  and 
I " 

"Did  I?  Yes,  I  remember.  In  those  days  a  good 
dinner  acted  on  me  like  champagne.  You  see  I  was 
very  often  hungry,  and  when  I  wasn't  starved  it  went 
to  my  head." 

"You  need  not  have  wanted  for  anything!"  he  said 
sharply. 

"Oh,  no!  But  I  preferred  the  pangs  of  hunger  to 
the  pangs  of  conscience,"  she  retorted  gaily. 

"I  didn't  mean  that.  There  was  no  string  to  what 
I  offered  you,  and  you  know  it!  And  you  know  it 
now!" 

"Certainly  I  do,"  she  said  calmly.  "You  mean  to 
be  very  kind,  Jack." 

"Then  why  the  devil  didn't " 

"Why  didn't  I  accept  food  and  warmth  and  raiment 
and  lodging  from  a  generous  and  harebrained  young 
man?  I'll  tell  you  now,  if  you  wish.  It  was  because 

332 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

my  conscience  forbade  me  to  accept  all  and  offer  noth 
ing  in  return." 

"Nonsense!     I  didn't  ask " 

"I  know  you  a.,  't.  But  I  couldn't  give,  so  I 
wouldn't  take.  Besides,  we  were  together  too  much.  I 
knew  it.  I  think  even  you  began  to  realise  it,  too.  The 
situation  was  impossible.  So  I  went  on  the  road." 

"You  never  answered  any  of  those  letters  of 
mine." 

"Mentally  I  answered  every  one." 

"A  lot  of  good  that  did  me !" 

"It  did  us  both  a  lot  of  good.  I  meant  to  write  to 
you  some  day — when  my  life  had  become  busy  enough 
to  make  it  difficult  for  me  to  find  time  to  write." 

He  looked  up  at  her  sharply,  and  she  laughed  and 
swung  her  muff. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "now  that  the  town  talks  about 
you  a  little,  you  will  have  no  time  to  waste  on  mere 
Johnnies." 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  When  a  mere  Johnnie  is  also 
a  Jack,  it  makes  a  difference — doesn't  it?  Do  you 
think  that  you  would  care  to  see  me  again?" 

"Of  course  I  do." 

"The  tickets,"  she  said  demurely,  "are  three  dollars 
—two  weeks  in  advance " 

"I  know  that  by  experience." 

"Oh!    Then  you  have  seen  'The  Better  Way'?  " 

"Certainly." 

"Do  you  like — the  show?" 

"You  are  the  best  of  it.     Yes,  I  like  it." 

"It's  my  first  chance.  Did  you  know  that?  If  poor 
little  Graham  hadn't  been  so  ill,  I'd  never  have  had  a 
look  in.  They  wouldn't  give  me  anything — except  in 

333 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

a  way  I  couldn't  accept  it.  I  tell  you,  Jack,  I  was 
desperate.  There  seemed  to  be  absolutely  no  chance 
unless  I — paid." 

"Why  didn't  you  write  me  and  let  me " 

"You  know  why." 

"It  would  have  been  reward  enough  to  see  you  make 
good — and  put  it  all  over  that  bald-headed,  dog- 
faced " 

"My  employer,  please  remember,"  she  said,  pretend 
ing  to  reprove  him.  "And,  Jack,  he's  amusingly  de 
cent  to  me  now.  Men  are  really  beginning  to  be  kind. 
Walbaum's  people  have  written  to  me,  and  O'Rourke 
sent  for  me,  and  I'm  just  beginning  to  make  profes 
sional  enemies,  too,  which  is  the  surest  sign  that  I'm 
almost  out  of  the  ranks.  If  I  could  only  study!  Now 
is  the  time !  I  know  it ;  I  feel  it  keenly — I  realise  how 
much  I  lack  in  education !  You  see  I  only  went  to  high- 
school.  It's  a  mercy  that  my  English  isn't  hope 
less " 

"It's  good!  It's  better  than  I  ever  supposed  it 
would  be " 

"I  know.  I  used  to  be  careless.  But  what  can  you 
expect?  After  I  left  home  you  know  the  sort  of  girls 
I  was  thrown  among.  Fortunately,  father  was  edu 
cated — if  he  was  nothing  else.  My  degeneracy  wasn't 
permanent.  Also,  I  had  been  thrown  with  Jacqueline, 
and  with  you " 

"Fine  educational  model  I  am!" 

"And,"  she  continued,  not  heeding  him,  "when  I 
met  you,  and  men  like  you,  I  was  determined  that  what 
ever  else  happened  to  me  my  English  should  not  de 
generate.  Jacqueline  helped  me  so  much.  I  tried  to 
study,  too,  when  I  was  not  on  the  road  with  the  show. 

334 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

But  if  only  I  could  study  now — study  seriously  for  a 
year  or  two !" 

"What  do  you  wish  to  study,  Cynthia?"  he  asked 
carelessly. 

"English!  Also  French  and  German  and  Italian. 
I  would  like  to  study  what  girls  in  college  study.  Then 
I'd  like  to  learn  stage  dancing  thoroughly.  And,  of 
course,  I'm  simply  crazy  to  take  a  course  in  dramatic 
art " 

"But  you  already  know  a  lot !  Every  paper  spoke 
well  of  you " 

"Oh,  Jack!  Does  that  mean  anything — when  I 
know  that  I  don't  know  anything !" 

"Rot!  Can  you  beat  professional  experience  as  an 
educator  ?" 

"I'm  not  quite  ready  for  it " 

"Very  well.  If  you  feel  that  way,  will  you  be  a  good 
sort,  Cynthia,  and  let  me " 

"No !" 

"I  ask  you  merely  to  let  me  take  a  flyer !" 

"No,  Jack." 

"Why  can't  I  take  a  flyer?  Why  can't  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  speculating  on  a  perfectly  sure  thing?  It's 
a  million  to  nothing  that  you'll  make  good.  For  the 
love  of  Mike,  Cynthia,  borrow  the  needful  and " 

"From  you?" 

"Naturally." 

"No,  Jack!" 

"Why  not?  Why  cut  off  your  nose  to  spite  your 
face?  What  difference  does  it  make  where  you  get  it 
as  long  as  it's  a  decent  deal?  You  can't  afford  to  take 
two  or  three  years  off  to  complete  your  education " 

"Begin  it,  you  mean." 

335 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"I  mean  finish  it !  You  can't  afford  to ;  but  if  you'll 
borrow  the  money  you'll  make  good  in  exactly  one-tenth 
of  the  time  you'd  otherwise  take  to  arrive — 

"Jack,  I  won't  discuss  it  with  you.  I  know  you  are 
generous  and  kind " 

"I'm  not!  I'm  anything  but!  For  heaven's  sake 
let  a  man  indulge  his  vanity,  Cynthia.  Imagine  my 
pride  when  you  are  famous !  Picture  my  bursting  van 
ity  as  I  sit  in  front  and  tell  everybody  near  me  that 
the  credit  is  all  mine;  that  if  it  were  not  for  me  you 
would  be  nowhere !" 

"It's  so  like  you,"  she  said  sweetly.  "You  always 
were  an  inordinate  boaster,  so  I  am  not  going  to  en 
courage  you." 

"Can't  you  let  me  make  you  a  business  loan  at  exor 
bitant  interest  without  expiring  of  mortification?" 

They  had  reached  the  theatre ;  a  few  loafers  sunning 
themselves  by  the  stage  entrance  leered  at  them. 

"Hush,  Jack !  I  can't  discuss  it  with  you.  But  you 
know  how  grateful  I  am,  don't  you?" 

"No,  I  don't "  he  said  sulkily. 

"You  are  cross  now,  but  you'll  see  it  as  I  do  half  an 
hour  hence." 

"No,  I  won't !"  he  insisted. 

She  laughed:  "You  haven't  changed,  at  all  events, 
have  you?  It  takes  me  back  years  to  see  that  rather 
becoming  scowl  gather  over  the  bridge  of  your  orna 
mental  nose.  But  it  is  very  nice  to  know  that  you 
haven't  entirely  forgotten  me ;  that  we  are  still  friends." 

"Where  are  you  living,  Cynthia?" 

She  told  him,  adding:  "Do  you  really  mean  to 
come?" 

"Watch  me !"  he  said,  almost  savagely,  took  off  his 
336 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

hat,  shook  her  hand  until  her  fingers  ached,  and  marched 
off  still  scowling. 

The  stage  loafers  shifted  quids  and  looked  after  him 
with  sneers. 

"Trun  out!"   observed  one. 

"All  off!"  nodded  another. 

The  third  merely  spat  and  slowly  closed  his  disillu 
sioned  and  leisure-weary  eyes. 

Cairns'  energetic  pace  soon  brought  him  to  the 
Olympian  Club,  where  he  was  accustomed  to  lunch,  it 
being  convenient  to  his  office,  which  was  on  Forty- 
sixth  Street. 

Desboro,  who,  at  Jacqueline's  request,  had  gone  back 
to  business,  appeared  presently  and  joined  Cairns  at 
a  small  table. 

"Anything  doing  at  the  office?"  inquired  the  lat 
ter.  "I  suppose  you  were  too  nervous  and  upset  to 
notice  the  market  though." 

"Well,  ask  yourself  how  much  you'd  feel  like  busi 
ness  after  marrying  the  most  glorious  and  wonder 
ful " 

"Ring  off!  I  concede  everything.  It  is  going  to 
make  some  splash  in  the  papers.  Yes?  Lord!  I  wish 
you  could  have  had  a  ripping  big  wedding  though! 
Wouldn't  she  have  looked  the  part?  Oh,  no!" 

"It  couldn't  be  helped,"  said  Desboro  in  a  low,  cha 
grined  voice.  "I'd  have  given  the  head  off  my  shoul 
ders  to  have  had  the  sort  of  a  wedding  to  which  she 
was  entitled.  But — I  couldn't." 

Cairns  nodded,  not,  however,  understanding;  and  as 
Desboro  offered  no  explanation,  he  remained  unen 
lightened. 

337 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Rather  odd,"  he  remarked,  "that  she  didn't  wish 
to  have  Aunt  Hannah  with  her  at  the  fatal  moment. 
They're  such  desperate  chums  these  days." 

"She  did  want  her.      I  wouldn't  have  her." 

"Is  that  so?" 

"It  is.  I'll  tell  you  why  some  day.  In  fact,  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  now.  Aunt  Hannah  has  it  in  for 
me.  She's  a  devil  sometimes.  You  know  it  and  I  do. 
She  has  it  in  for  me  just  now.  She's  wrong;  she's 
made  a  mistake ;  but  I  couldn't  tell  her  anything.  You 
can't  tell  that  sort  of  a  woman  anything,  once  she's 
made  up  her  mind.  And  the  fact  is,  Jack,  she's  already 
made  up  her  mind  that  I  was  not  to  marry  Jacqueline. 
And  I  was  afraid  of  her.  And  that's  why  I  married 
Jacqueline  this  way." 

Cairns  stared. 

"So  now,"  added  Desboro,  "you  know  how  it  hap 
pened." 

"Quite  so.     Rotten  of  her,  wasn't  it?" 

"She  didn't  mean  it  that  way.  She  got  a  fool  idea 
into  her  head,  that's  all.  Only  I  was  afraid  she'd  tell 
it  to  Jacqueline." 

"I  see." 

"That's  what  scared  me.  I  didn't  know  what  she 
might  tell  Jacqueline.  She  threatened  to  tell  her — 
things.  And  it  would  have  involved  a  perfectly  inno 
cent  woman  and  myself — put  me  in  a  corner  where  I 
couldn't  decently  explain  the  real  facts  to  Jacqueline. 
Now,  thank  God,  it's  too  late  for  Aunt  Hannah  to  make 
mischief." 

Cairns  nodded,  thinking  of  Mrs.  Clydesdale.  And 
whatever  he  personally  was  inclined  to  believe,  he  knew 
that  gossip  was  not  dealing  very  leniently  with  that 

338 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

young  wife  and  the  man  who  sat  on  the  other  side  of 
the  table,  nervously  pulling  to  pieces  his  unlighted 
cigarette. 

But  it  needed  no  rumour,  no  hearsay  evidence,  no 
lifted  eyebrows,  no  shrugs,  no  dubious  smiles,  no  half 
hearted  defence  of  Elena  Clydesdale,  to  thoroughly 
convince  Mrs.  Hammerton  of  Desboro's  utter  unfitness 
as  a  husband  for  the  motherless  girl  she  had  begun  to 
love  with  a  devotion  so  fierce  that  at  present  it  could 
brook  no  rival  at  all  of  either  sex. 

For  Mrs.  Hammerton  had  never  before  loved.  She 
had  once  supposed  that  she  loved  her  late  husband,  but 
soon  came  to  regard  him  as  a  poor  sort  of  thing.  She 
had  been  extremely  fond  of  Desboro,  too,  in  her  own 
way,  but  in  the  vivid  fire  of  this  new  devotion  to  Jac 
queline,  any  tenderness  she  ever  might  have  cherished 
for  that  young  man  was  already  consumed  and  sacri 
ficed  to  a  cinder  in  the  fiercer  flame. 

Into  her  loneliness,  into  her  childless  solitude,  into 
the  hardness,  cynicism,  and  barren  emptiness  of  her 
latter  years,  a  young  girl  had  stepped  from  nowhere, 
and  she  had  suddenly  filled  her  whole  life  with  the 
swift  enchantment  of  love. 

A  word  or  two,  a  smile,  the  magic  of  two  arms  upon 
her  bony  shoulders,  the  shy  touch  of  youthful  lips — 
these  were  the  very  simple  ingredients  which  ap 
parently  had  transmuted  the  brass  and  tinsel  and 
moral  squalor  of  Aunt  Hannah's  life  into  charming 
reality. 

From  sudden  tenderness  to  grim  love,  to  jealous, 
watchful,  passionate  adoration — these  were  the  steps 
Mrs.  Hammerton  had  taken  in  the  brief  interval  of 

339 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

time  that  had  elapsed  since  she  had  first  seen  Jacque 
line. 

Into  the  clear,  truthful  eyes  she  had  looked,  and  had 
seen  within  only  an  honest  mind  and  a  clean  young 
soul.  Wisdom,  too,  only  lacking  in  experience,  she 
divined  there ;  and  less  of  wisdom  than  of  intelligence ; 
and  less  of  that  than  of  courage.  And  it  all  was  so 
clear,  so  perfectly  apparent  to  the  cold  and  experi 
enced  scrutiny  of  the  woman  of  the  world,  that,  for  a 
while,  she  could  not  entirely  believe  what  she  under 
stood  at  the  first  glance. 

When  she  was  convinced,  she  surrendered.  And  never 
before  in  all  her  unbelieving,  ironical,  and  material 
career  had  she  experienced  such  a  thrill  of  overwhelm 
ing  delight  as  when,  that  evening  at  Silverwood,  Jac 
queline  had  drawn  her  head  down  and  had  touched  her 
dry  forehead  with  warm,  young  lips. 

Everything  about  the  girl  fascinated  her — her  in 
dependence  and  courage;  her  adorable  bashfulness  in 
matters  where  experience  had  made  others  callous — 
in  such  little  things,  for  example,  as  the  response  to  an 
invitation,  the  meeting  with  fashionable  strangers — but 
it  was  only  the  nice,  friendly,  and  thoroughbred  shy 
ness  of  inexperience,  not  the  awkwardness  of  under- 
breeding  or  of  that  meaner  vanity  called  self-conscious 
ness. 

Poor  herself,  predatory,  clever,  hard  as  nails,  her 
beady  eyes  ever  alert  for  the  main  chance,  she  felt  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  the  real  bitterness  of  compara 
tive  poverty — which  is  the  inability  to  give  where  one 
loves. 

She  had  no  illusions ;  she  knew  that  what  she  had  to 
offer  the  girl  would  soon  pall;  that  Jacqueline  would 

340 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

choose  her  own  friends  among  the  sane  and  simple  and 
sincere,  irrespective  of  social  and  worldly  considera 
tions;  that  no  glitter,  no  sham,  no  tinsel  could  perma 
nently  hold  her  attention ;  no  lesser  ambition  seduce  her ; 
no  folly  ever  awake  her  laughter  more  than  once.  What 
the  girl  saw  she  would  understand;  and,  in  future,  she 
would  choose  for  herself  what  she  cared  to  see  and 
know  of  a  new  world  now  gradually  opening  before  her. 

But  in  the  meantime  Jacqueline  must  see  before  she 
could  learn,  and  before  she  could  make  up  her  mind 
what  to  discard  and  what  to  retain. 

So  Mrs.  Hammerton  had  planned  that  Jacqueline 
should  be  very  busy  during  March  and  April;  and  her 
patience  was  sorely  tried  when  she  found  that,  for  a 
week  or  two,  the  girl  could  give  her  only  a  very  few 
minutes  every  other  day. 

At  first  it  was  a  grim  consolation  to  her  that  Jacque 
line  still  remained  too  busy  to  see  anybody,  because 
that  meant  that  Desboro,  too,  would  be  obliged  to  keep 
his  distance. 

For  at  first  Mrs.  Hammerton  did  not  believe  that 
the  girl  could  be  seriously  interested  in  Desboro;  in 
fact,  she  had  an  idea  that,  so  far,  all  the  sentiment  was 
on  Desboro's  side.  And  both  Jacqueline's  reticence 
arid  her  calm  cordiality  in  speaking  of  Desboro  were 
at  first  mistaken  by  Aunt  Hannah  for  the  symptoms 
of  a  friendship  not  sentimentally  significant. 

But  the  old  lady's  doubts  soon  became  aroused ; 
she  began  to  watch  Jacqueline  askance — began  to  test 
her,  using  all  her  sly  cleverness  and  skill.  Slowly  her 
uncertainty,  uneasiness,  and  suspicion  changed  to  anger 
and  alarm. 

If  she  had  been  more  than  angry  and  suspicious — if 
341 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

she  had  been  positive,  she  would  not  have  hesitated  an 
instant.  For  on  one  matter  she  was  coldly  determined ; 
the  girl  should  not  marry  Desboro,  or  any  such  man 
as  Desboro.  It  made  no  difference  to  her  whether  Des 
boro  might  be  really  in  love  with  her.  He  was  not  fit 
for  her;  he  was  a  man  of  weak  character,  idle,  useless, 
without  purpose  or  ability,  who  would  never  amount  to 
anything  or  be  anything  except  what  he  already  was 
— an  agreeable,  graceful,  amusing,  acceptable  item  in 
the  sort  of  society  which  he  decorated. 

She  knew  and  despised  that  breed  of  youth;  New 
York  was  full  of  them,  and  they  were  even  less  endur 
able  to  her  than  the  similar  species  extant  in  England 
and  on  the  Continent;  for  the  New  York  sort  were 
destitute  of  the  traditions  which  had  created  the  real 
kind — and  there  was  no  excuse  for  them,  not  even  the 
sanction  of  custom.  They  were  merely  imitation  of 
a  more  genuine  degeneracy.  And  she  held  them  in  con 
tempt. 

She  told  Jacqueline  this,  as  she  was  saying  good 
night  on  Saturday,  and  was  alarmed  and  silenced  by 
the  girl's  deep  flush  of  colour;  and  she  went  home  in 
her  scrubby  brougham,  scared  and  furious  by  turns, 
and  determined  to  settle  Desboro's  business  for  him 
without  further  hesitation. 

Sunday  Jacqueline  could  not  see  her;  and  the  sus 
picion  that  the  girl  might  be  with  Desboro  almost  drove 
the  old  lady  crazy.  Monday,  too,  Jacqueline  told  her 
over  the  telephone  would  be  a  very  busy  day ;  and  Aunt 
Hannah  acquiesced  grimly,  determined  to  waste  no 
further  time  at  the  telephone  and  take  no  more  chances, 
but  go  straight  to  Jacqueline  and  take  her  into  her 
arms  and  tell  her  what  a  mother  would  tell  her  about 

342 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Desboro,  and  how,  at  that  very  hour  perhaps,  he  was 
with  Mrs.  Clydesdale;  and  what  the  world  suspected, 
and  what  she  herself  knew  of  an  intrigue  that  had  been 
shamelessly  carried  into  the  very  house  which  had  shel 
tered  Jacqueline  within  a  day  or  two. 

So  on  Monday  morning  Mrs.  Hammerton  went  to 
see  Jacqueline ;  and,  learning  that  the  girl  had  gone  out 
early,  marched  home  again,  sat  down  at  her  desk,  and 
wrote  her  a  letter. 

When  she  had  finished  she  honestly  believed  that  she 
had  also  finished  Desboro ;  and,  grimly  persuaded  that 
she  had  done  a  mother's  duty  by  the  motherless,  she 
summoned  a  messenger  and  sent  off  the  letter  to  a  girl, 
who,  at  that  very  moment,  had  returned  to  her  desk, 
a  wife. 

The  rapid  reaction  from  the  thrilling  experience  of 
the  morning  had  made  Jacqueline  nervous  and  unfit  for 
business,  even  before  she  arrived  at  her  office.  But 
she  entered  the  office  resolutely  and  seated  herself  at 
her  desk,  summoning  all  her  reserve  of  self-control  to 
aid  her  in  concentrating  her  mind  on  the  business  in 
hand. 

First  she  read  her  morning's  mail  and  dictated  her 
answers  to  a  red-headed  stenographer.  Next  she  re 
ceived  Lionel  Sissly,  disposed  of  his  ladylike  business 
with  her;  sent  for  Mr.  Mirk,  went  over  with  him  his 
report  of  the  shop  sales,  revised  and  approved  the  list 
of  prices  to  be  ticketed  on  new  acquisitions,  re 
read  the  sheaf  of  dictated  letters  laid  before  her 
by  the  red-headed  stenographer,  signed  them, 
and  sent  down  for  the  first  client  on  the  appointment 
list. 

The  first  on  the  list  was  a  Mr.  Hyman  Dobky;  and 
343 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

his  three  months'  note  had  gone  to   protest,  and  Mr. 
Dobky  wept. 

She  was  not  very  severe  with  him,  because  he  was  a 
Lexington  Avenue  dealer  just  beginning  in  a  small 
way,  and  she  believed  him  to  be  honest  at  heart.  He 
retired  comforted,  swabbing  his  eyes  with  his  cuff. 

Then  came  a  furtive  pair,  Orrin  Munger,  the  "Cub 
ist"  poet,  and  his  loud-voiced,  swaggering  confrere, 
Adalbert  Waudle,  author  of  "Black  Roses"  and  other 
phenomena  which,  some  people  whispered,  resembled 
blackmail. 

It  had  been  with  greatest  reluctance,  and  only  be 
cause  it  was  a  matter  concerning  a  client,  that  she  had 
consented  to  receive  the  dubious  pair.  She  had  not  for 
gotten  her  experience  with  the  "Cubist,"  and  his  sug 
gestion  for  an  informal  Italian  trip,  and  had  never 
again  desired  or  expected  to  see  him. 

He  now  offered  her  an  abnormally  flat  and  damp 
hand ;  and  hers  went  behind  her  back  and  remained  there 
clasped  together,  as  she  stood  inspecting  Mr.  Munger 
with  level  eyes  that  harboured  lightning. 

She  said  quietly:  "My  client,  Mr.  Clydesdale,  re 
cently  requested  my  opinion  concerning  certain  jades, 
crystals  and  Chinese  porcelains  purchased  by  him  from 
you  and  from  Mr.  Waudle.  I  have,  so  far,  examined 
some  twenty  specimens.  Every  specimen  examined  by 
me  is  a  forgery." 

Mr.  Waudle,  taken  completely  by  surprise,  gaped 
at  her  like  a  fat  and  expiring  fish ;  the  poet  turned  a 
dull  and  muddy  red,  and  said  not  a  word. 

"So,"  added  Jacqueline  coldly,  "at  Mr.  Clydesdale's 
request  I  have  asked  you  to  come  here  and  explain  the 
situation  to  me." 

344 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

Waudle,  writer  of  "Pithy  Points"  for  the  infamous 
Tattler.,  recovered  his  wits  first. 

"Miss  Nevers,"  he  said  menacingly,  "do  you  mean  to 
insinuate  that  I  am  a  swindler?" 

"Are  you,  Mr.  Waudle?" 

"That's  actionable.     Do  you  understand?" 

"Perfectly.      Please   explain   the   forgeries." 

The  poet,  who  had  sunk  down  upon  a  chair,  now 
arose  and  began  to  make  elaborate  gestures  preliminary 
to  a  fluency  of  speech  which  had  never  yet  deserted  him 
in  any  crisis  where  a  lady  was  involved. 

"My  dear  child "  he  began. 

"What!"  cut  in  Jacqueline  crisply. 

"My — my  dear  and — and  honored,  but  very  youthful 
and  inexperienced  young  lady,"  he  stammered,  a  trifle 
out  of  countenance  under  the  fierce  glimmer  in  her 
eyes,  "do  you,  for  one  moment,  suppose  that  such  a 
writer  as  Mr.  Waudle  would  imperil  his  social  and  lit 
erary  reputation  for  the  sake  of  a  few  wretched  dol 
lars  !" 

"Fifteen  thousand,"    commented   Jacqueline  quietly. 

"Exactly.  Fifteen  thousand  contemptible  dollars — 
inartistically  designed,"  he  added,  betraying  a  tendency 
to  wander  from  the  main  point ;  and  was  generously 
proceeding  to  instruct  her  in  the  art  of  coin  design 
when  she  brought  him  back  to  the  point  with  a  shock. 

"FoM,  also,  are  involved  in  this  questionable  transac 
tion,"  she  said  coldly.  "Can  you  explain  these  forger 
ies?" 

"F- forgeries !"  he  repeated,  forcibly  injecting  indig 
nation  into  the  exclamation;  but  his  eyes  grew  very 
round,  as  though  frightened,  and  a  spinal  limpness 
appeared  which  threatened  the  stability  of  his  knees. 

347 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

But  the  poet's  fluency  had  not  yet  deserted  him;  he 
opened  both  arms  in  a  gesture  suggesting  absolute 
confidence  in  a  suspicious  and  inartistic  world. 

"I  am  quite  guiltless  of  deception,"  he  said,  using  a 
slight  tremolo.  "Permit  me  to  protest  against  your 
inexperienced  judgment  in  the  matter  of  these  ancient 
and  precious  specimens  of  Chinese  art;  I  protest!"  he 
exclaimed  earnestly.  "I  protest  in  the  name  of  that 
symbol  of  mystery  and  beauty — that  occult  lunar  some 
thing,  my  dear  young  lady,  which  we  both  worship,  and 
which  the  world  calls  the  moon " 

"I  beg  your  pardon "  she  interrupted;  but  the 

poet  was  launched  and  she  could  not  check  him. 

"I  protest,"  he  continued  shrilly,  "in  the  name  of 
Art !  In  the  name  of  all  that  is  worth  while,  all  that 
matters,  all  that  counts,  all  that  is  meaningful,  sacred, 
precious  beyond  price " 

"Mr.  Hunger!" 

"I  protest  in  the  name  of " 

"Mr.  Manger!" 

"Eh!"  he  said,  coming  to  and  rolling  his  round, 
washed-out  eyes  toward  her. 

"Be  kind  enough  to  listen,"  she  said  curtly.  "I  am 
compelled  to  interrupt  you  because  to-day  I  am  a  very 
busy  person.  So  I  am  going  to  be  as  brief  with  you 
as  possible.  This,  then,  is  the  situation  as  I  under 
stand  it.  A  month  or  so  ago  you  and  your  friend,  Mr. 
Waudle,  notified  Mr.  Clydesdale  that  you  had  just  re 
turned  from  Pekin  with  a  very  unusual  collection  of 
ancient  Chinese  art,  purchased  by  you,  as  you  stated, 
from  a  certain  Chinese  prince." 

The  faint  note  of  scorn  in  her  voice  did  not  escape 
the  poet,  who  turned  redder  and  muddier  and  made  a 

348 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

picturesque  gesture  of  world-wide  appeal ;  but  no  words 
came  from  either  manufacturer  of  literary  phrases ; 
Waudle  only  closed  his  cod-like  mouth,  and  the  eyes 
set  in  his  fat  face  became  small  and  cunning  like  some 
thing  in  the  farthest  corner  of  a  trap. 

Jacqueline  continued  gravely :  "At  your  solicitation, 
I  understand,  and  depending  upon  your  representa 
tions,  my  client,  Mr.  Clydesdale,  purchased  from  you 
this  collection " 

"We  offered  no  guarantees  with  it,"  interrupted 
Waudle  thickly.  "Besides,  his  wife  advised  him  to  buy 
the  collection.  I  am  an  old  and  valued  friend  of  Mrs. 
Clydesdale.  She  would  never  dream  of  demanding  a 
guarantee  from  me!  Ask  her  if " 

"What  is  a  guarantee?"  inquired  Jacqueline.  "I'm 
quite  certain  that  you  don't  know,  Mr.  Waudle.  And 
did  you  and  Mr.  Munger  regard  your  statement  con 
cerning  the  Chinese  prince  as  poetic  license?  Or  as 
diverting  fiction?  Or  what?  You  were  not  writing 
romance,  you  know.  You  were  engaged  in  business.  So 
I  must  ask  you  again  who  is  this  prince?" 

"There  was  a  prince,"  retorted  Waudle  sullenly. 
"Can  you  prove  there  wasn't?" 

"There  are  several  princes  in  China.  And  now  I  am 
obliged  to  ask  you  to  state  distinctly  exactly  how  many 
of  these  porcelains,  jades  and  crystals  which  you  sold 
to  Mr.  Clydesdale  were  actually  purchased  by  you  from 
this  particular  Chinese  prince?" 

"Most  of  them,"  said  Waudle,  defiantly.  "Prove  the 
contrary  if  you  can !" 

"Not  all  of  them,  then — as  you  assured  Mr.  Clydes 
dale?" 

"I  didn't  say  all." 

349 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"I  am  afraid  you  did,  Mr.  Waudle.  I  am  afraid  you 
even  wrote  it — over  your  own  signature." 

"Very  well,"  said  Waudle,  with  a  large  and  careless 
sweep  of  his  hand,  "if  any  doubt  remains  in  Mr.  Clydes 
dale's  mind,  I  am  fully  prepared  to  take  back  what 
ever  specimens  may  not  actually  have  come  from  the 
prince " 

"There  were  some,  then,  which  did  not?" 

"One  or  two,  I  believe." 

"And  who  is  this  Chinese  prince,  Mr.  Waudle?"  she 
repeated,  not  smiling.  "What  is  his  name?" 

Munger  answered;  he  knew  exactly  wKat  answer  to 
make,  and  how  to  deliver  it  with  flowing  gestures.  He 
had  practised  it  long  enough: 

"When  I  was  travelling  with  His  Excellency  T'ang- 
K'ai-Sun  by  rail  from  Szechuan  to  Pekin  to  visit 
Prince " 

"The  railroad  is  not  built,"  interrupted  the  girl 
drily.  "You  could  not  have  travelled  that  way." 

Both  men  regarded  her  as  though  paralysed  by  her 
effrontery. 

"Continue,  please,"  she  nodded. 

The  poet  swallowed  nothing  very  fast  and  hard,  and 
waved  his  damp  hand  at  her: 

"Tuan-Fang,  Viceroy  of  Wuchang " 

"He  happens  to  be  Viceroy  of  Nanking,"  observed 
the  girl. 

Waudle,  frightened,  lost  his  temper  and  turned  on 
her,  exasperated: 

"Be  careful!  Your  insinuations  involve  our  honour 
and  are  actionable !  Do  you  realise  what  you  are  say- 
ing?" 

"Perfectly." 

350 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"I  fear  not.  Do  you  imagine  you  are  competent  to 
speak  with  authority  about  China  and  its  people  and 
its  complex  and  mysterious  art  when  you  have  never 
been  in  the  country?" 

"I  have  seen  a  little  of  China,  Mr.  Waudle.  But  I 
do  not  pretend  to  speak  with  undue  authority  about 
it." 

"You  say  you've  been  in  China?"  His  tone  of  dis 
belief  was  loud  and  bullying. 

"I  was  in  China  with  my  father  when  I  was  a  girl 
of  sixteen." 

"Oh!     Perhaps  you  speak  Chinese!"  he  sneered. 

She  looked  at  him  gravely,  not  answering. 

He  laughed :  "Now,  Miss  Nevers,  you  have  intimated 
that  we  are  liars  and  swindlers.  Let's  see  how  much 
you  know  for  an  expert!  You  pretend  to  be  an 
authority  on  things  Chinese.  You  will  then  un 
derstand  me  when  I  say:  'Jen  chih  ch'u,  Hsing  pen 
shan '  " 

"I  do  understand  you,  Mr.  Waudle,"  she  cut  in  con 
temptuously.  "You  are  repeating  the  'three-word- 
classic,'  which  every  school-child  in  China  knows,  and  it 
merely  means  'Men  when  born  are  naturally  good.'  I 
think  I  may  qualify  in  Chinese  as  far  as  San  Tzu  Ching 
and  his  nursery  rhymes.  And  I  think  we  have  had 
enough  of  this  dodging " 

The   author   flushed  hotly. 

"Do  you  speak  Wenli?"  he  demanded,  completely 
flustered. 

"Do  you?"  she  retorted  impatiently. 

"I  do,"  he  asserted  boldly. 

"Indeed!" 

"I  may  even  say  that  I  speak  very  fluently  the — ' 
351 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

the  literary  language  of  China — or  Wenli,  as  it  is 
commonly  called." 

"That  is  odd,"  she  said,  "because  the  literary  lan 
guage  of  China,  commonly  called  Wenli,  is  not  and 
never  has  been  spoken.  It  is  only  a  written  language, 
Mr.  Waudle." 

The  Cubist  had  now  gone  quite  to  pieces.  From  his 
colourless  mop  of  bushy  hair  to  the  fringe  on  his  ankle- 
high  trousers,  he  presented  a  study  in  deep  dejection. 
Only  his  round,  pale,  parrot-like  eyes  remained  on  duty, 
staring  unwinkingly  at  her. 

"Were  you  ever  actually  in  China?"  she  asked,  look 
ing  around  at  him. 

The  terrified  poet  feebly  pointed  to  the  author  of 
"Black  Roses." 

"Oh !"  she  said.  "Were  you  in  China,  Mr.  Waudle, 
or  only  in  Japan?" 

But  Mr.  Waudle  found  nothing  further  to  say. 

"Because,"  she  said,  "in  Japan  sometimes  one  is  de 
ceived  into  buying  alleged  Chinese  jades  and  crystals 
and  porcelains.  I  am  afraid  that  you  were  deceived. 
I  hope  you  were  honestly  deceived.  What  you  have  sold 
to  Mr.  Clydesdale  as  jade  is  not  jade.  And  the  porce 
lains  are  not  what  you  represented  them  to  be." 

"That's  where  you  make  a  mistake !"  shouted  Waudle 
loudly.  "I've  had  the  inscription  on  every  vase  trans 
lated,  and  I  can  prove  it!  How  much  of  an  expert 
are  you?  Hey?" 

"If  you  were  an  expert,"  she  explained  wearily,  "you 
would  understand  that  inscriptions  on  Chinese  porce 
lains  are  not  trustworthy.  Even  hundreds  of  years  ago 
forgeries  were  perpetrated  by  the  Chinese  who  desired 
to  have  their  works  of  art  mistaken  for  still  more  an- 

352 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

cient  masterpieces;  and  so  the  ancient  and  modern 
makers  of  porcelains  inscribed  them  accordingly.  Only 
when  an  antique  porcelain  itself  conforms  to  the  in 
scription  it  bears  do  we  venture  to  accept  that  inscrip 
tion.  Never  otherwise." 

Waudle,  hypnotised,  stood  blinking  at  her,  bereft  of 
speech,  almost  of  reason. 

The  poet  piped  feebly:  "It  was  not  our  fault!  We 
were  brutally  deceived  in  Japan.  And,  oh !  The  bitter 
deception  to  me !  The  cruelty  of  the  awakening  I"  He 
got  up  out  of  his  chair;  words  and  gestures  were  once 
again  at  his  command ;  tears  streaked  his  pasty  cheeks. 

"Miss  Nevers !  My  dear  and  honoured  young  lady ! 
You  know — you  among  all  women  must  realise  how 
precious  to  me  is  the  moon !  Sacred,  worshipped, 
adored — desired  far  more  than  the  desire  for  gold — 
yea,  than  much  fine  gold !  Sweeter,  also,  than  honey 
in  the  honeycomb !"  he  sobbed.  "And  it  was  a  pair  of 
moon  vases,  black  as  midnight,  pearl-orbed,  lacquered, 
mystic,  wonderful,  that  lured  me -" 

"A  damned  Japanese  in  Tokio  worked  them  off  on 
us!"  broke  out  the  author  of  "Black  Roses,"  hoarsely. 
"That  was  the  beginning.  What  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?  You've  got  us  all  right,  Miss  Nevers.  The 
Jap  did  us.  We  did  the  next  man.  If  you  want  to 
send  us  up,  I  suppose  you  can !  I  don't  care.  I  can't 
keep  soul  and  body  together  by  selling  what  I  write. 
I  tell  you  I've  starved  half  my  life — and  when  I  hear 
about  the  stuff  that  sells — all  these  damned  best  sellers 
— all  this  cheap  fiction  that  people  buy — while  they 
neglect  me — it  breaks  my  heart " 

He  turned  sharply  and  passed  his  hand  over  his  face. 
It  was  not  an  attitude;  for  a  fraction  of  a  second  it 

353 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

was  the  real  thing.  Yet,  even  while  the  astonished 
poet  was  peeping  sideways  at  his  guilty  companion,  a 
verse  suggested  itself  to  him ;  and,  quite  unconsciously, 
he  began  to  fumble  in  his  pockets  for  a  pencil,  while  the 
tears  still  glistened  on  his  cheeks. 

"Mr.  Waudle,"  said  Jacqueline,  "I  am  really  sorry 
for  you.  Because  this  is  a  very  serious  affair." 

There  was  a  silence;  then  she  reseated  herself  at 
her  desk. 

"My  client,  Mr.  Clydesdale,  is  not  vindictive.  He 
has  no  desire  to  humiliate  you  publicly.  But  he  is 
justly  indignant.  And  I  know  he  will  insist  that  you 
return  to  him  what  money  he  paid  you  for  your  col 
lection." 

Waudle  started  dramatically,  forgetting  his  gen 
uine  emotion  of  the  moment  before. 

"Does  this  rich  man  mean  to  ruin  me !"  he  demanded, 
making  his  resonant  voice  tremble. 

"On  the  contrary,"  she  explained  gently,  "all  he 
wants  is  the  money  he  paid  you." 

As  that  was  the  only  sort  of  ruin  which  Mr.  Wau 
dle  had  been  fearing,  he  pressed  his  clenched  fists  into 
his  eyes.  He  had  never  before  possessed  so  much 
money.  The  mere  idea  of  relinquishing  it  infuriated 
him;  and  he  turned  savagely  on  Jacqueline,  hesitated, 
saw  it  was  useless.  For  there  remained  nothing  fur 
ther  to  say  to  such  a  she-devil  of  an  expert.  He  had 
always  detested  women  anyway;  whenever  he  had  any 
money  they  had  gotten  it  in  one  way  or  another.  The 
seven  thousand,  his  share,  would  have  gone  the  same 
way.  Now  it  was  going  back  into  a  fat,  rich  man's 
capacious  pockets — unless  Mrs.  Clydesdale  might  be 
persuaded  to  intervene.  She  could  say  that  she  wanted 

354 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

the  collection.  Why  not?  She  had  aided  him  before 
in  emergencies — unwillingly,  it  is  true — but  what  of 
that?  No  doubt  she'd  do  it  again — if  he  scared  her 
sufficiently. 

Jacqueline  waited  a  moment  longer;  then  rose  from 
her  desk  in  signal  that  the  interview  was  at  an  end. 

Waudle  slouched  out  first,  his  oblong,  evil  head  hang 
ing  in  a  picturesque  attitude  of  noble  sorrow.  The 
Cubist  shambled  after  him,  wrapped  in  abstraction,  his 
round,  pale,  bird-like  eyes  partly  sheathed  under  bluish 
eyelids  that  seemed  ancient  and  wrinkled. 

He  was  already  quite  oblivious  to  his  own  moral 
degradation ;  his  mind  was  completely  obsessed  by  the 
dramatic  spectacle  which  the  despair  of  his  friend  had 
afforded  him,  and  by  the  idea  for  a  poem  with  which 
the  episode  had  inspired  him. 

He  was  still  absently  fishing  for  a  pencil  and  bit  of 
paper  when  his  companion  jogged  his  elbow: 

"If  we  fight  this  business,  and  if  that  damn  girl  sets 
Clydesdale  after  us,  we'll  have  to  get  out.  But  I  don't 
think  it  will  come  to  that." 

"Can  you  stop  her,  Adalbert — and  retain  the 
money  ?" 

"By  God!  I'm  beginning  to  think  I  can.  I  believe 
I'll  drop  in  to  see  Mrs.  Clydesdale  about  it  now.  She 
is  a  very  faithful  friend  of  mine,"  he  added  gently. 
"And  sometimes  a  woman  will  rush  in  to  help  a  fellow 
where  angels  fear  to  tread." 

The  poet  looked  at  him,  then  looked  away,  fright 
ened. 

"Be  careful,"  he  said,  nervously. 

"Don't  worry.  I  know  women.  And  I  have  an 
idea." 

355 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

The  poet  of  the  Cubists  shrugged;  then,  with  a 
vague  gesture: 

"My  mistress,  the  moon,"  he  said,  dreamily,  "is  more 
to  me  than  any  idea  on  earth  or  in  Heaven." 

"Very  fine,"  sneered  Waudle,  "but  why  don't  you 
make  her  keep  you  in  pin  money?" 

"Adalbert,"  retorted  the  poet,  "if  you  wish  to  prosti 
tute  your  art,  do  so.  Anybody  can  make  a  mistress 
of  his  art  and  then  live  off  her.  But  the  inviolable 


moon 

"Oh,  hell!"  snapped  the  author  of  "Black  Roses." 

And  they  wandered  on  into  the  busy  avenue,  side 
by  side,  Waudle  savagely  biting  his  heavy  under- 
lip,  both  fists  rammed  deep  into  his  overcoat  pockets ; 
the  Cubist  wandering  along  beside  him,  a  little  derby 
hat  crowning  the  bunch  of  frizzled  hair  on  his  head, 
his  soiled  drab  trousers,  ankle  high,  flapping  in  the 
wind. . 

Jacqueline  glanced  at  them  as  they  passed  the  win 
dow  at  the  end  of  the  corridor,  and  turned  hastily  away, 
remembering  the  old,  unhappy  days  after  her  father's 
death,  and  how  once  from  a  window  she  had  seen  the 
poet  as  she  saw  him  now,  frizzled,  soiled,  drab,  disap 
pearing  into  murky  perspective. 

She  turned  wearily  to  her  desk  again.  A  sense  of 
depression  had  been  impending — but  she  knew  it  was 
only  the  reaction  from  excitement  and  fought  it  nerv 
ously. 

They  brought  luncheon  to  her  desk,  but  she  sent  away 
the  tray  untouched.  People  came  by  appointment  and 
departed,  only  to  give  place  to  others,  all  equally  per 
sistent  and  wholly  absorbed  in  their  own  affairs;  and 
she  listened  patiently,  forcing  her  tired  mind  to  sym- 

356 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

pathise  and  comprehend.  And,  in  time,  everybody  went 
away  satisfied  or  otherwise,  but  in  no  doubt  concerning 
the  answer  she  had  given,  favourable  or  unfavourable 
to  their  desires.  For  that  was  her  way  in  the  business; 
of  life. 

At  last,  once  more  looking  over  her  appointment  list,, 
she  found  that  only  Clydesdale  remained;  and  almost 
at  the  same  moment,  and  greatly  to  her  surprise,  Mrs1. 
Clydesdale  was  announced. 

"Is  Mr.  Clydesdale  with  her?"  she  asked  the  clerk, 
who  had  also  handed  her  a  letter  with  the  visiting  card 
of  Mrs.  Clydesdale. 

"The  lady  is  alone,"  he  said. 

Jacqueline  glanced  at  the  card  again.  Then, 
thoughtfully : 

"Please  say  to  Mrs.  Clydesdale  that  I  will  receive 
her,"  she  said;  laid  the  card  on  the  desk  and  picked 
up  the  letter. 

It  was  a  very  thick  letter  and  had  arrived  by  mes 
senger. 

The  address  on  the  envelope  was  in  Mrs.  Hammer- 
ton's  familiar  and  vigorous  back-stroke  writing,  and  she 
had  marked  it  "Private!  Personal!  Important!"  As 
almost  every  letter  from  her  to  Jacqueline  bore  similar 
emphatic  warnings,  the  girl  smiled  to  herself  and  leis 
urely  split  the  envelope  with  a  paper  knife. 

She  was  still  intent  on  the  letter,  and  was  still  seated 
at  her  desk  when  Mrs.  Clydesdale  entered.  And  Jac 
queline  slowly  looked  up,  dazed  and  deathly  white,  as 
the  woman  about  whom  she  had  at  that  moment  been 
reading  came  forward  to  greet  her.  Then,  with  a  su 
preme  effort,  she  rose  from  her  chair,  managing  to  find 
the  ghost  of  a  voice  to  welcome  Elena,  who  seemed  un- 

357 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

usually  vivacious,  and  voluble  to  the  verge  of  excite 
ment. 

"My  dear!"  she  exclaimed.  "What  a  perfectly 
charming  office!  It's  really  too  sweet  for  words,  Miss 
Nevers!  It's  enough  to  drive  us  all  into  trade!  Are 
you  very  much  surprised  to  see  me  here?" 

"A— little." 


'My  dear!'  she  exclaimed.     'What  a  perfectly  charming 
office!'" 


"It's   odd — the  coincidence  that  brought  me,"   said 
Elena  gaily,  " — and  just  a  trifle  embarrassing  to  me. 

And   as  it   is  rather  a  confidential   matter "      She 

drew  her  chair  closer  to  the  desk.  "May  I  speak  to  you 
in  fullest  candour  and — and  implicit  confidence,  Miss 
Nevers  ?" 

"Yes." 

358 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Then — there  is  a  friend  of  mine  in  very  serious 
trouble — a  man  I  knew  slightly  before  I  was  married. 
Since  then  I — have  come  to  know  him — better.  And  I 
am  here  now  to  ask  you  to  help  him." 

"Yes." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  his  name  at  once?" 

"If  you  wish." 

"Then — his  name  is  Adalbert  Waudle." 

Jacqueline  looked  up  at  her  in  weary  surprise. 

Elena  laughed  feverishly:  "Adalbert  is  only  a  boy 
— a  bad  one,  perhaps,  but — you  know  that  genius  is 
queer — always  unbalanced.  He  came  to  see  me  at  noon 
to-day.  It's  a  horrid  mess,  isn't  it — what  he  did  to  my 
husband?  I  know  all  about  it;  and  I  know  that  Gary 
is  wild,  and  that  it  was  an  outrageous  thing  for  Adal 
bert  to  do.  But " 

Her  voice  trembled  a  little  and  she  forced  a  laugh  to 
conceal  it:  "Adalbert  is  an  old  friend,  Miss  Nevers. 
I  knew  him  as  a  boy.  But  even  so,  Gary  couldn't  under 
stand  if  I  pleaded  for  him.  My  husband  means  to 
send  him  to  jail  if  he  does  not  return  the  money.  And 
— and  I  am  sorry  for  Mrs.  Waudle.  Besides,  I  like  the 
porcelains.  And  I  want  you  to  persuade  Gary  to  keep 
them." 

Through  the  whirling  chaos  of  her  thoughts,  Jacque 
line  still  strove  to  understand  what  this  excited  woman 
was  saying;  made  a  desperate  effort  to  fix  her  atten 
tion  on  the  words  and  not  on  the  flushed  and  restless 
young  wife  who  was  uttering  them. 

"Will  you  persuade  Gary  to  keep  the  collection,  Miss 
Nevers  ?" 

"That  is  for  you  to  do,  Mrs.  Clydesdale." 

"I  tried.  I  called  him  up  at  his  office  and  asked  him 
359 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

to  keep  the  jades  and  porcelains  because  I  liked  them. 
But  he  was  very  obstinate.  What  you  have  told  him 
about — about  being  swindled  has  made  him  furious. 
That  is  why  I  came  here.  Something  must  be  done." 

"I  don't  think  I  understand  you." 

"There  is  nothing  to  understand.  I  want  to  keep 
the  collection.  I  ask  you  to  convince  my  husband " 

"How?" 

"I  d — don't  know,"  stammered  Elena,  crimson  again. 
"You  ought  to  know  how  to — to  do  it." 

"If  Mr.  Waudle  returns  your  husband's  money,  no 
further  action  will  be  taken." 

"He  can  not,"  said  Elena,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Why?" 

"He  has  spent  it." 

"Did  he  tell  you  that?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I  am  afraid  that  Mr.  Clydesdale  wyill  have  him 
arrested." 

There  was  an  ominous  silence.  Jacqueline  forced 
her  eyes  away  from  the  terrible  fascination  of  Elena's 
ghastly  face,  and  said: 

"I  am  sorry.  But  I  can  do  nothing  for  you,  Mrs. 
Clydesdale.  The  decision  rests  with  your  husband." 

"You  must  help  me!" 

"I  cannot." 

"You  must!"  repeated  Elena. 

"How?" 

"I — I  don't  care  how  you  do  it !  But  you  must  pre 
vent  my  husband  from  prosecuting  Mr.  Waudle!  It — 
it  has  got  to  be  done — somehow." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

Elena's  face  was  burning  and  her  lips  quivered: 
3GO 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"It  has  got  to  be  done !     I  can't  tell  you  why." 

"Can  you  not  tell  your  husband?" 

"No." 

Jacqueline  was  quivering,  too,  clinging  desperately 
to  her  self-control  under  the  menace  of  an  impending 
horror  which  had  already  partly  stunned  her. 

"Are  you — afraid  of  this  man?"  she  asked,  with 
stiffening  lips. 

Elena  bowed  her  head  in  desperation. 

"What  is  it?     Blackmail?" 

"Yes.  He  once  learned  something.  I  have  paid  him 
— not  to — to  write  it  for  the — the  Tattler.  And  to-day 
he  came  to  me  straight  from  your  office  and  made  me 
understand  that  I  would  have  to  stop  my  husband  from 
— taking  any  action — even  to  recover  the  money " 

Jacqueline  sat  nervously  clenching  and  unclenching 
her  hands  over  the  letter  which  lay  under  them  on  the 
blotter. 

"What  scandal  is  it  you  fear,  Mrs.  Clydesdale?"  she 
asked,  in  an  icy  voice. 

Elena  coloured  furiously:  "Is  it  necessary  for  me 
to  incriminate  myself  before  you  help  me?  I  thought 
you  more  generous !" 

"I  can  not  help  you.     There  is  no  way  to  do  so." 

"Yes,  there  is !" 

"How?" 

"By — by  telling  my  husband  that  the — the  jades 
are  not  forgeries !" 

Jacqueline's  ashy  cheeks  blazed  into  colour. 

"Mrs.  Clydesdale,"  she  said,  "I  would  not  do  it  to 
save  myself — not  even  to  save  the  dearest  friend  I 
have!  And  do  you  think  I  will  lie  to  spare  you?'1 

In  the  excitement   and  terror  of  what  now  was  in- 
361 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

stantly  impending,  the  girl  had  risen,  clutching  Mrs. 
Hammerton's  letter  in  her  hand. 

"You  need  not  tell  me  why  you — you  are  afraid," 
she  stammered,  her  lovely  lips  already  distorted  with 
fear  and  horror,  "because  I — I  know!  Do  you  under 
stand?  I  know  what  you  are — what  you  have  done — 
what  you  are  doing !" 

She  fumbled  in  the  pages  of  Mrs.  Hammerton's  let 
ter,  found  an  enclosure,  and  held  it  out  to  Elena  with 
shaking  fingers. 

It  was  Elena's  note  to  her  husband,  written  on  the 
night  she  left  him,  brought  by  her  husband  to  Silver- 
wood,  left  on  the  library  table,  used  as  a  book-mark 
by  Desboro,  discovered  and  kept  by  its  finder,  Mrs. 
Hammerton,  for  future  emergencies. 

Elena  re-read  it  now  with  sickened  senses,  and  knew 
that  in  the  eyes  of  this  young  girl  she  was  utterly  and 
irretrievably  damned. 

"Did  you  write  that?"  whispered  Jacqueline,  with 
lips  scarcely  under  control. 

"I — you  do  not  understand " 

"Did  you  know  that  when  I  was  a  guest  under  Mr. 
Desboro's  roof  everything  that  he  and  you  said  in  the 
library  was  overheard?  Do  you  know  that  you  have 
been  watched — not  by  me — but  even  long  before  I 
knew  you — watched  even  at  the  opera " 

Elena  drew  a  quick,  terrified  breath;  then  the  surg 
ing  shame  mantled  her  from  brow  to  throat. 

"That  was  Mrs.  Hammerton!"  she  murmured.  "I 
warned  Jim — but  he  trusted  her." 

Jacqueline  turned  cold  all  over. 

"He  is  your — lover,"  she  said  mechanically. 

Elena  looked  at  her,  hesitated,  came  a  step  nearer, 
362 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

still  staring.  Her  visage  and  her  bearing  altered  subtly. 
For  a  moment  they  gazed  at  each  other.  Then  Elena 
said,  in  a  soft,  but  deadly,  voice: 

"Suppose  he  is  my  lover!  Does  that  concern  you?" 
And,  as  the  girl  made  no  stir  or  sound:  "However, 
if  you  think  it  does,  you  will  scarcely  care  to  know 
either  of  us  any  longer.  I  am  quite  satisfied.  Do  what 
you  please  about  the  man  who  has  blackmailed  me.  I 
don't  care  now.  I  was  frightened  for  a  moment — but 
I  don't  care  any  longer.  Because  the  end  of  all  this 
nightmare  is  in  sight;  and  I  think  Mr.  Desboro  and 
I  are  beginning  to  awake  at  last." 

Until  a  few  minutes  before  five  Jacqueline  remained 
seated  at  her  desk,  motionless,  her  head  buried  in  her 
arms.  Then  she  got  to  her  feet  somehow,  and  to  her 
room,  where,  scarcely  conscious  of  what  she  was  doing, 
she  bathed  her  face  and  arranged  her  hair,  and  strove 
to  pinch  and  rub  a  little  colour  into  her  ghastly  cheeks. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

DESBORO  came  for  her  in  his  car  at  five  and 
found  her  standing  alone  in  her  office,  dressed 
in  a  blue  travelling  dress,  hatted  and  closely 
veiled.  He  partly  lifted  the  veil,  kissed  the  cold,  un 
responsive  lips,  the  pallid  cheek,  the  white-gloved 
fingers. 

"Is  Her  Royal  Shyness  ready?"  he  whispered. 

"Yes,  Jim." 

"All  her  affairs  of  state  accomplished?"  he  asked 
laughingly. 

"Yes — the  day's  work  is  done." 

"Was  it  a  hard  day  for  you,  sweetheart?" 

"Yes— hard." 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  he  murmured. 

She  rearranged  her  veil  in  silence. 

Again,  as  the  big  car  rolled  away  northward,  and 
they  were  alone  once  more  in  the  comfortable  limousine, 
he  took  possession  of  her  unresisting  hand,  whispering: 

"I  am  so  sorry  you  have  had  a  hard  day,  dear.  You 
really  look  very  pale  and  tired." 

"It  was  a — tiresome  day." 

He  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips:  "Do  you  love  me, 
Jacqueline  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Above  everything?" 

"Yes." 

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THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

"And  you  know  that  I  love  you  above  everything  in 
the  world?" 

She  was  silent. 

"Jacqueline!"  he  urged.     "Don't  you  know  it?" 

"I — think  you — care  for  me." 

He  laughed:  "Will  Your  Royal  Shyness  never  un 
bend  !  Is  that  all  the  credit  you  give  me  for  my  wor 
ship  and  adoration?" 

She  said,  after  a  silence:  "If  it  lies  with  me,  you 
really  will  love  me  some  day." 

"Dearest!"  he  protested,  laughing  but  perplexed. 
"Don't  you  know  that  I  love  you  now — that  I  am  ab 
solutely  mad  about  you?" 

She  did  not  answer,  and  he  waited,  striving  to  see 
her  expression  through  the  veil.  But  when  he  offered 
to  lift  it,  she  gently  avoided  him. 

"Did  you  go  to  business?"  she  asked  quietly. 

"I?  Oh,  yes,  I  went  back  to  the  office.  But  Lord! 
Jacqueline,  I  couldn't  keep  my  attention  on  the  tape  or" 
on  the  silly  orders  people  fired  at  me  over  the  wire. 
So  I  left  young  Seely  in  charge  and  went  to  lunch  with 
Jack  Cairns;  and  then  he  and  I  returned  to  the  office, 
where  I've  been  fidgeting  about  ever  since.  I  think  it's 
been  the  longest  day  I  ever  lived." 

"It  has  been  a  long  day,"  she  assented  gravely. 
"Did  Mr.  Cairns  speak  to  you  of  Cynthia?" 

"He  mentioned  her,  I  believe." 

"Do  you  remember  what  he  said  about  her?" 

"Well,  yes.  I  think  he  spoke  about  her  very  nicely 
— about  her  being  interesting  and  ambitious  and  tal 
ented — something  of  that  sort — but  how  could  I  keep 
my  mind  on  what  he  was  saying  about  another  girl?" 

Jacqueline  looked  out  of  the  window  across  a  waste 
365 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

of  swamp  and  trestle  and  squalid  buildings  toward 
University  Heights.  She  said  presently,  without  turn 
ing: 

"Some  day,  may  I  ask  Cynthia  to  visit  me?" 

"Dearest  girl !     Of  course !    Isn't  it  your  house " 

"Silverwood?" 

"Certainly " 

"No,  Jim." 

"What  on  earth  do  you  mean?" 

"What  I  say.  Silverwood  is  not  yet  even  partly 
mine.  It  must  remain  entirely  yours — until  I  know 
you — better." 

"Why  on  earth  do  you  say  such  silly " 

"What  is  yours  must  remain  yours,"  she  repeated,  in 
a  low  voice,  "just  as  my  shop,  and  office,  and  my 
apartment  must  remain  mine — for  a  time." 

"For  how  long?" 

"I  can  not  tell." 

"Do  you  mean  for  always?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"And  I  don't  understand  you,  dear,"  he  said  impa 
tiently. 

"You  will,  Jim." 

He  smiled  uneasily:  "For  how  long  must  we  twain, 
who  are  now  one,  maintain  solitary  sovereignty  over 
our  separate  domains?" 

"Until  I  know  you  better." 

"And  how  long  is  that  going  to  take?"  he  asked, 
smilingly  apprehensive  and  deeply  perplexed  by  her 
quiet  and  serious  attitude  toward  him. 

"I  don't  know  how  long,    I  wish  I  did." 

"Jacqueline,  dear,  has  anything  unpleasant  hap 
pened  to  disturb  you  since  I  last  saw  you?" 

36G 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

She  made  no  reply. 

"Won't  you  tell  me,  dear,"  he  insisted  uneasily. 

"I  will  tell  you  this,  Jim.  Whatever  may  have  oc 
curred  to  disturb  me  is  already  a  matter  of  the  past. 
Life  and  its  business  lie  before  us ;  that  is  all  I  know. 
This  is  our  beginning,  Jim;  and  happiness  depends 
on  what  we  make  of  our  lives  from  now  on — from  now 
on." 

The  stray  lock  of  golden  hair  had  fallen  across  her 
cheek,  accenting  the  skin's  pallor  through  the  veil. 
She  rested  her  elbow  on  the  window  ledge,  her  tired 
head  on  her  hand,  and  gazed  at  the  sunset  behind  the 
Palisades.  Far  below,  over  the  grey  and  wrinkled 
river,  smoke  from  a  steamboat  drifted,  a  streak  of 
bronze  and  purple,  in  the  sunset  light. 

"What  has  happened?"  he  muttered  under  his  breath. 
And,  turning  toward  her:  "You  must  tell  me,  Jac 
queline.  It  is  now  my  right  to  know." 

"Don't  ask  me." 

His  face  hardened;  for  a  moment  the  lean  muscles 
of  the  jaw  worked  visibly. 

"Has  anybody  said  anything  about  me  to  you?" 

No  reply. 

"Has — has  Mrs.  Hammerton  been  to  see  you?" 

"No." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then : 

"I'll  tell  you  now,  Jacqueline;  she  did  not  wish  me 
to  marry  you.  Did  you  know  it?" 

"I  know  it." 

"I  believe,"  he  said,  "that  she  has  been  capable  of 
warning  you  against  me.  Did  she?" 

No  reply. 

"And  yet  you  married  me?"  he  said,  after  a  silence. 
367 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

She  said  nothing. 

"So  you  could  not  have  believed  her,  whatever  she 
may  have  said,"  he  concluded  calmly. 

"Jim?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"I  married  you  because  I  loved  you.  I  love  you  still. 
Remember  it  when  you  are  impatient  with  me — when 
you  are  hurt — perhaps  angry " 

"Angry  with  you,  my  darling !" 

"You  are  going  to  be — very  often — I  am  afraid." 

"Angry?" 

"I — don't  know.  I  don't  know  how'  it  will  be  with 
us.  If  only  you  will  remember  that  I  love  you — no 
matter  how  I  seem " 

"Dear,  if  you  tell  me  that  you  do  love  me,  I  will 
know  that  it  must  be  so !" 

"I  tell  you  that  I  do.  I  could  never  love  anybody 
else.  You  are  all  that  I  have  in  the  world ;  all  I  care 
for.  You  are  absolutely  everything  to  me.  I  loved 
you  and  married  you;  I  took  you  for  mine  just  as  you 
were  and  are.  And  if  I  didn't  quite  understand  all 
that — that  you  are — I  took  you,  nevertheless — for  bet 
ter  or  for  worse — and  I  mean  to  hold  you.  And  I  know 
now  that,  knowing  more  about  you,  I  would  do  the 
same  thing  if  it  were  to  be  done  again.  I  would  marry 
you  to-morrow — knowing  what  I  know." 

"What  more  do  you  know  about  me  than  you  did  this 
morning,  Jacqueline?"  he  asked,  terribly  troubled. 

But  she  refused  to  answer. 

He  said,  reddening:  "If  you  have  heard  any  gos 
sip  concerning  Mrs.  Clydesdale,  it  is  false.  Was  that 
what  you  heard?  Because  it  is  an  absolute  lie." 

But  she  had  learned  from  Mrs.  Clydesdale's  reckless 

3G8 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

lips  the  contrary,  and  she  rested  her  aching  head  on 
her  hand  and  stared  out  at  the  endless  lines  of  houses 
along  Broadway,  as  the  car  swung  into  Yonkers,  veered 
to  the  west  past  the  ancient  manor  house,  then  rolled 
northward  again  toward  Hastings. 

"Don't  you  believe  me?"  he  asked  at  length.  "That 
gossip  is  a  lie — if  that  is  what  you  heard." 

She  thought:  "This  is  how  gentlemen  are  supposed 
to  behave  under  such  circumstances."  And  she  shivered. 

"Are  you  cold?"  he  asked,  with  an  effort. 

"A  little." 

He  drew  the  fur  robe  closer  around  her,  and  leaned 
back  in  his  corner,  deeply  worried,  impatient,  but  help 
less  in  the  face  of  her  evident  weariness  and  reticence, 
which  he  could  not  seem  to  penetrate  or  comprehend. 
Only  that  something  ominous  had  happened — that  some 
thing  was  dreadfully  wrong — he  now  thoroughly  under 
stood. 

In  the  purposeless  career  of  a  man  of  his  sort,  there 
is  much  that  it  is  well  to  forget.  And  in  Desboro's 
brief  career  there  were  many  things  that  he  would  not 
care  to  have  such  a  girl  as  Jacqueline  hear  about — so 
much,  alas !  of  folly  and  stupidity,  so  much  of  idle 
ness,  so  much  unworthy,  that  now  in  his  increasing 
chagrin  and  mortification,  in  the  painful  reaction  from 
happy  pride  to  alarm  and  self-contempt,  he  could  not 
even  guess  what  had  occurred,  or  for  which  particular 
folly  he  was  beginning  to  pay. 

Long  since,  both  in  his  rooms  in  town,  and  at  Silver- 
wood,  he  had  destroyed  the  silly  souvenirs  of  idleness 
and  folly.  He  thought  now  of  the  burning  sacrifice  he 
had  so  carelessly  made  that  day  in  the  library — and 
how  the  flames  had  shrivelled  up  letter  and  fan,  photo- 

369 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

graph  and  slipper.  And  he  could  not  remember  that 
he  had  left  a  rag  of  lace  or  a  perfumed  envelope  un- 
burned. 

Had  the  ghosts  of  their  owners  risen  to  confront 
him  on  his  own  hearthstone,  standing  already  between 
him  and  this  young  girl  he  had  married? 

What  whisper  had  reached  her  guiltless  ears?  What 
rumour,  what  breath  of  innuendo  ?  Must  a  man  still  be 
harassed  who  has  done  with  folly  for  all  time — who 
aspires  to  better  things — who  strives  to  change  his 
whole  mode  of  life  merely  for  the  sake  of  the  woman 
he  loves — merely  to  be  more  worthy  of  her? 

As  he  sat  there  so  silently  in  the  car  beside  her,  his 
dark  thoughts  travelled  back  again  along  the  weary, 
endless  road  to  yesterday.  Since  he  had  known  and 
loved  her,  his  thoughts  had  often  and  unwillingly 
sought  that  shadowy  road  where  the  only  com 
pany  were  ghosts — phantoms  of  dead  years  that 
sometimes  smiled,  sometimes  reproached,  sometimes 
menaced  him  with  suddenly  remembered  eyes  and 
voiceless  but  familiar  words  forever  printed  on  his 
memory. 

Out  of  that  grey  vista,  out  of  that  immaterial  waste 
where  only  impalpable  shapes  peopled  the  void,  van 
ished,  grew  out  of  nothing  only  to  reappear,  something 
had  come  to  trouble  the  peace  of  mind  of  the  woman  he 
loved — some  spectre  of  folly  had  arisen  and  had  whis 
pered  in  her  ear,  so  that,  at  the  mockery,  the  light  had 
died  out  in  her  fearless  eyes  and  her  pure  mind  was 
clouded  and  her  tender  heart  was  weighted  with  this 
thing — whatever  it  might  be — this  echo  of  folly  which 
had  returned  to  mock  them  both. 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  drawing  her  to  him  so  that  her 
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THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

cold  cheek  rested  against  his,  "whatever  I  was,  I  am 
no  longer.     You  said  you  could  forgive." 

"I  do— forgive." 

"Can  you  not  forget,  too?" 

"I  will  try — with  your  help." 

"How  can  I  help  you?     Tell  me." 

"By  letting  me  love  you — as  wisely  as  I  can — in  my 
own  fashion.  By  letting  me  learn  more  of  you — more 
about  men.  I  don't  understand  men.  I  thought  I  did 
— but  I  don't.  By  letting  me  find  out  what  is  the  wisest 
and  the  best  and  the  most  unselfish  way  to  love  you. 
For  I  don't  know  yet.  I  don't  know.  All  I  know  is 
that  I  am  married  to  the  man  I  loved — the  man  I  still 
love.  But  how  I  am  going  to  love  him  I — I  don't  yet 
know." 

He  was  silent ;  the  hot  flush  on  his  face  did  not  seem 
to  warm  her  cheek  where  it  rested  so  coldly  against  his. 

"I  want  to  hold  you  because  it  is  best  for  us  both," 
she  said,  as  though  speaking  to  herself. 

"But — you  need  make  no  effort  to  hold  me,  Jacque 
line  !"  he  protested,  amazed. 

"I  want  to  hold  you,  Jim,"  she  repeated.  "You  are 
my  husband.  I — I  must  hold  you.  And  I  don't  know 
how  I  am  to  do  it.  I  don't  know  how." 

"My  darling!  Who  has  been  talking  to  you?  What 
have  they  said?" 

"It  has  got  to  be  done,  somehow,"  she  interrupted, 
wearily.  "I  must  learn  how  to  hold  you ;  and  you  must 
give  me  time,  Jim " 

"Give  you  time!"  he  repeated,  exasperated. 

"Yes — to  learn  how  to  love  you  best — so  I  can  serve 
you  best.  That  is  why  I  married  you — not  selfishly, 

Jim — and  I  thought  I  knew — I  thought  I  knew " 

371 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Her  cheek  slipped  from  his  and  rested  on  his  shoul 
der.  He  put  his  arm  around  her  and  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  gloved  hands. 

"I  love  you  dearly,  dearly,"  he  whispered  brokenly. 
"If  the  whisper  of  any  past  stupidity  of  mine  has  hurt 
you,  God  knows  best  what  punishment  He  visits  on  me 
at  this  moment!  If  there  were  any  torture  I  could 
endure  to  spare  you,  Jacqueline,  I  would  beg  for  it — 
welcome  it !  It  is  a  bitter  and  a  hopeless  and  a  ridicu 
lous  thing  to  say;  but  if  I  had  only  known  there  was 
such  a  woman  as  you  in  the  world  I  would  have  under 
stood  better  how  to  live.  I  suppose  many  a  man  under 
stands  it  when  it  is  too  late.  I  realise  now,  for  the 
first  time,  how  changeless,  how  irrevocably  fixed,  are 
the  truths  youth  learns  to  smile  at — the  immutable 
laws  youth  scoffs  at " 

He  choked,  controlled  his  voice,  and  went  on: 

"If  youth  could  only  understand  it,  the  truths  of 
childhood  are  the  only  truths.  The  first  laws  we  learn 
are  the  eternal  ones.  And  their  only  meaning  is  self- 
discipline.  But  youth  is  restive  and  mistakes  curiosity 
for  intelligence,  insubordination  for  the  courage  of 
independence.  The  stupidity  of  orthodoxy  incites  re 
volt.  To  disregard  becomes  less  difficult;  to  forget 
becomes  a  habit.  To  think  for  one's  self  seems  admir 
able  ;  but  when  youth  attempts  that,  it  thinks  only  what 
it  pleases  or  does  not  think  at  all.  I  am  not  trying  to 
find  excuses  or  to  evade  my  responsibility,  dear.  I  had 
every  chance,  no  excuse  for  what  I  have — sometimes — 
been.  And  now — on  this  day — this  most  blessed  and 
most  solemn  day  of  my  life — I  can  only  say  to  you  I 
am  sorry,  and  that  I  mean  so  to  live — always — that  no 
man  or  woman  can  reproach  me." 

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THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

She  lay  very  silent  against  his  shoulder.  Blindly 
striving  to  understand  him,  and  men — blindly  searching 
for  some  clue  to  the  path  of  duty — the  path  she  must 
find  somehow  and  follow  for  his  sake — through  the 
obscurity  and  mental  confusion  she  seemed  to  hear  at 
moments  Elena  Clydesdale's  shameless  and  merciless 
words,  and  the  deadly  repetition  seemed  to  stun  her. 

Vainly  she  strove  against  the  recurring  horror;  once 
or  twice,  unconsciously,  her  hands  crept  upward  and 
closed  her  ears,  as  though  she  could  shut  out  what  was 
dinning  in  her  brain. 

With  every  reserve  atom  of  mental  strength  and 
self-control  she  battled  against  this  thing  which  was 
stupefying  her,  fought  it  off,  held  it,  drove  it  back — 
not  very  far,  but  far  enough  to  give  her  breathing 
room.  But  no  sooner  did  she  attempt  to  fix  her  mind 
on  the  man  beside  her,  and  begin  once  more  to  grope 
for  the  clue  to  duty — how  most  unselfishly  she 
might  serve  him  for  his  salvation  and  her  own 
— than  the  horror  she  had  driven  back  stirred 
stealthily  and  crawled  nearer.  And  the  battle  was  on 
once  more. 

Twilight  had  fallen  over  the  Westchester  hills ;  a 
familiar  country  lay  along  the  road  they  travelled.  In 
the  early  darkness,  glancing  from  the  windows  he  di 
vined  unseen  landmarks,  counted  the  miles  unconsciously 
as  the  car  sped  across  invisible  bridges  that  clattered 
or  resounded  under  the  heavy  wheels. 

The  stars  came  out ;  against  them  woodlands  and 
hills  took  shadowy  shape,  marking  for  him  remem 
bered  haunts.  And  at  last,  far  across  the  hills  the 
lighted  windows  of  Silverwood  glimmered  all  a-row; 
the  wet  gravel  crunched  under  the  slowing  wheels,  tall 

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THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Norway  spruces  towered  phantomlike  on  every  side ; 
the  car  stopped. 

"Home,"  he  whispered  to  her;  and  she  rested  her 
arm  on  his  shoulder  and  drew  herself  erect. 

Every  servant  and  employee  on  the  Desboro  estate 
was  there  to  receive  them ;  she  offered  her  slim  hand 
and  spoke  to  every  one.  Then,  on  her  husband's  arm, 
and  her  proud  little  head  held  high,  she  entered  the 
House  of  Desboro  for  the  first  time  bearing  the  family 
name — entered  smiling,  with  death  in  her  heart. 

At  last  the  dinner  was  at  an  end.  Farris  served  the 
coffee  and  set  the  silver  lamp  and  cigarettes  on  the 
library  table,  and  retired. 

Luminous  red  shadows  from  the  fireplace  played  over 
wall  and  ceiling — the  same  fireplace  where  Desboro 
had  made  his  offering — as  though  flame  could  purify 
and  ashes  end  the  things  that  men  have  done ! 

In  her  frail  dinner  gown  of  lace,  she  lay  in  a  great 
chair  before  the  blaze,  gazing  at  nothing.  He,  seated 
on  the  rug  beside  her  chair,  held  her  limp  hand  and 
rested  his  face  against  it,  staring  at  the  ashes  on  the 
hearth. 

And  this  was  marriage !  Thus  he  was  beginning  his 
wedded  life — here  in  the  house  of  his  fathers,  here  at 
the  same  hearthstone  where  the  dead  brides  of  dead 
forebears  had  sat  as  his  bride  was  sitting  now. 

But  had  any  bride  ever  before  faced  that  hearth  so 
silent,  so  motionless,  so  pale  as  was  this  young  girl 
whose  fingers  rested  so  limply  in  his  and  whose  cold 
palm  grew  no  warmer  against  his  cheek? 

What  had  he  done  to  her?  What  had  he  done  to 
himself — that  the  joy  of  things  had  died  out  in  her 

374 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

eyes — that  speech  had  died  on  her  lips — that  nothing 
in  her  seemed  alive,  nothing  responded,  nothing 
stirred. 

Now,  all  the  bitterness  that  life  and  its  unwisdom 
had  stored  up  for  him  through  the  swift  and  reckless 
years,  he  tasted.  For  that  cup  may  not  pass.  Some 
where,  sooner  or  later,  the  same  lips  that  have  so  lightly 
emptied  sweeter  draughts  must  drain  this  one.  None 
may  refuse  it,  none  wave  it  away  until  the  cup  be 
empty. 

"Jacqueline  ?" 

She  moved  slightly  in  her  chair. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  "what  is  it  that  can  make 
amends  ?" 

"They — are  made." 

"But  the  hurt  is  still  there.    What  can  heal  it,  dear?" 

"I— don't  know." 

"Time?" 

"Perhaps." 

"Love?" 

"Yes — in  time." 

"How  long?" 

"I  do  not  know,  Jim." 

"Then — what  is  there  for  me  to  do?" 

She  was  silent. 

"Could  you  tell  me,  Jacqueline?" 

"Yes.     Have  patience — with  me." 

"With  you?" 

"It  will  be  necessary." 

"How  do  you  mean,  dear?" 

"I  mean  you  must  have  patience  with  me — in  many 
ways.  And  still  be  in  love  with  me.  And  still  be  loyal 
to  me — and — faithful.  I  don't  know  whether  a  man 

375 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

can  do  these  things.  I  don't  know  men.  But  I  know 
myself — and  what  I  require  of  men — and  of  you." 

"What  you  require  of  me  I  can  be  if  you  love  me." 

"Then  never  doubt  it.  And  when  I  know  that  you 
have  become  what  I  require  you  to  be,  you  could  not 
doubt  my  loving  you  even  if  you  wished  to.  Then 
you  will  know;  until  then — you  must  believe." 

He  sat  thinking  before  the  hearth,  the  slow  flush 
rising  to  his  temples  and  remaining. 

"What  is  it  you  mean  to  do,  Jacqueline?"  he  asked, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"Nothing,  except  what  I  have  always  done.  The 
business  of  life  remains  unchanged;  it  is  always  there 
to  be  done." 

"I  mean — are  you  going  to — change — toward  me?" 

"I  have  not  changed." 

"Your  confidence  in  me  has  gone." 

"I  have  recovered  it." 

"You  believe  in  me  still?" 

"Oh,  yes — yes !"  Her  little  hand  inside  his  clenched 
convulsively  and  her  voice  broke. 

Kneeling  beside  her,  he  drew  her  into  his  arms  and 
felt  her  breath  suddenly  hot  and  feverish  against  his 
shoulder.  But  if  there  had  been  tears  in  her  eyes  they 
dried  unshed,  for  he  saw  no  traces  of  them  when  he 
kissed  her. 

"In  God's  name,"  he  whispered,  "let  the  past  bury  its 
accursed  dead  and  give  me  a  chance.  I  love  you,  wor 
ship  you,  adore  you.  Give  me  my  chance  in  life  again, 
Jacqueline !" 

"I — I  give  it  to  you — as  far  as  in  me  lies.  But  it 
rests  with  you,  Jim,  what  you  will  be." 

His  own  philosophy  returned  to  mock  him  out  of  the 
376 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

stainless  mouth  of  this  young  girl!  But  he  said  pas 
sionately  : 

"How  can  I  be  arbiter  of  my  own  fate  unless  I  have 
all  you  can  give  me  of  love  and  faith  and  unswerving 
loyalty?" 

"I  give  you  these." 

"Then — as  a  sign — return  the  kiss  I  give  you — now." 

There  was  no  response. 

"Can  you  not,  Jacqueline?" 

"Not— yet." 

"You — you  can  not  respond!" 

"Not — that  way — yet." 

"Is — have  I — has  what  you  know  of  me  killed  all  feel 
ing,  all  tenderness  in  you?" 

"No." 

"Then — why  can  you  not  respond " 

"I  can  not,  Jim — I  can  not." 

He  flushed  hotly:  "Do  you— do  I  inspire  you  with 
— do  I  repel  you — physically?" 

She  caught  his  hand,  cheeks  afire,  dismayed,  striving 
to  check  him : 

"Please — don't  say  such — it  is — not — true " 

"It  seems  to  be " 

"No  !     I — I  ask  you — not  to  say  it — think  it " 

"How  can  I  help  thinking  it — thinking  that  you  only 
care  for  me — that  the  only  attraction  on  your  part  is 
— is  intellectual " 

She  disengaged  her  hand  from  his  and  shrank  away 
into  the  velvet  depths  of  her  chair. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  he  said.  "I've  got  to  say  what  I 
think.  Never  since  I  have  told  you  I  loved  you  have 
you  ever  hinted  at  any  response,  even  to  the  lightest, 
caress.  We  are  married.  Whatever — however  foolish 

377 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

I  may  have  been — God  knows  you  have  made  me  pay  for 
it  this  day.  How  long  am  I  to  continue  paying?  I 
tell  you  a  man  can't  remain  repentant  too  long  under 
the  stern  and  chilling  eyes  of  retribution.  If  you  are 
going  to  treat  me  as  though  I  were  physically  unfit  to 
touch,  I  can  make  no  further  protest.  But,  Jacque 
line,  no  man  was  ever  aided  by  a  punishment  that 
wounds  his  self-respect." 

"I  must  consider  mine,  too,"  she  said,  in  a  ghost  of 
a  voice. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "if  you  think  you  must  main 
tain  it  at  the  expense  of  mine 

"Jim !" 

The  low  cry  left  her  lips  trembling. 

"What?"  he  said,  angrily. 

"Have — have  you  already  forgotten  what  I  said?" 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"I  asked — I  asked  you  to  be  patient  with  me — be 
cause — I  love  you 

But  the  words  halted ;  she  bowed  her  head  in  her 
hands,  quivering,  scarcely  conscious  that  he  was  on 
his  knees  again  at  her  feet,  scarcely  hearing  his  broken 
words  of  repentance  and  shame  for  the  sorry  and  con 
temptible  role  he  had  been  playing. 

No  tears  came  to  help  her  even  then,  only  a  dry,  still 
agony  possessed  her.  But  the  crisis  passed  and  wore 
away;  sight  and  hearing  and  the  sense  of  touch  re 
turned  to  her.  She  saw  his  head  bowed  in  contrition  on 
her  knees,  heard  his  voice,  bitter  in  self-accusation,  felt 
his  hands  crisping  over  hers,  crushing  them  till  her  new 
rings  cut  her. 

For  a  while  she  looked  down  at  him  as  though  dazed ; 
then  the  real  pain  from  her  wedding  ring  aroused  her 

378 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

and  she  gently  withdrew  that  hand  and  rested  it  on  his 
thick,  short,  curly  hair. 

For  a  long  while  they  remained  so.  He  had  ceased  to 
speak;  her  brooding  gaze  rested  on  him,  unchanged 
save  for  the  subtle  tenderness  of  the  lips,  which  still 
quivered  at  moments. 

Clocks  somewhere  in  the  house  were  striking  mid 
night.  A  little  later  a  log  fell  from  the  dying  fire, 
breaking  in  ashes. 

He  felt  her  stir,  change  her  position  slightly;  and 
he  lifted  his  head.  After  a  moment  she  laid  her  hand 
on  his  arm,  and  he  aided  her  to  rise. 

As  they  moved  slowly,  side  by  side,  through  the 
house,  they  saw  that  it  was  filled  with  flowers  every 
where,  twisted  ropes  of  them  on  the  banisters,  too, 
where  they  ascended. 

Her  own  maid,  who  had  arrived  by  train,  rose  from 
a  seat  in  the  upper  corridor  to  meet  her.  The  two 
rooms,  which  were  connected  by  a  sitting  room,  dis 
closed  themselves,  almost  smothered  in  flowers. 

Jacqueline  stood  in  the  sitting  room  for  a  moment, 
gazing  vaguely  around  her  at  the  flowers  and  steady 
ing  herself  by  one  hand  on  the  centre-table,  which  a 
great  bowlful  of  white  carnations  almost  covered. 

Then,  as  her  maid  reappeared  at  the  door  of  her 
room,  she  turned  and  looked  at  Desboro. 

There  was  a  silence;  his  face  was  very  white,  hers 
was  deathly. 

He  said:    "Shall  we  say  good-night?" 

"It  is — for  you — to  say." 

"Then — good-night,  Jacqueline." 

"Good-night." 

She  turned,  took  a  step  or  two — looked  back,  hesi- 
381 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

tated,  then  slowly  retraced  her  steps  to  where  he  was 
standing  by  the  flower-covered  table. 

From  the  mass  of  blossoms  she  drew  a  white  car 
nation,  touched  it  to  her  lips,  and,  eyes  still  lowered, 
offered  it  to  him.  In  her  palm,  beside  it,  lay  a  key. 
But  he  took  only  the  blossom,  touching  it  to  his  lips 
as  she  had  done. 

She  looked  at  the  key,  lying  in  her  trembling  hand, 
then  lifted  her  confused  eyes  to  his  once  more,  whis 
pering  : 

"Good-night — and  thank  you." 

"Good-night,"  he  said,  "until  to-morrow." 

And  they  went  their  separate  ways. 


CHAPTER  XV 

UNE  NUIT  BLANCHE— and  the  young  seem 
less  able  to  withstand  its  corroding  alchemy 
than  the  old.  It  had  left  its  terrible  and 
pallid  mark  on  Desboro ;  and  on  Jacqueline  it  had  set 
its  phantom  sign.  That  youthfully  flushed  and  bright- 
eyed  loveliness  which  always  characterised  the  girl  had 
whitened  to  ashes  over  night. 

And  now,  as  she  entered  the  sunny  breakfast  room 
in  her  delicate  Chinese  morning  robes,  the  change  in 
her  was  startlingly  apparent;  for  the  dead-gold  lustre 
of  her  hair  accented  the  pallor  of  a  new  and  strange 
and  transparent  beauty ;  the  eyes,  tinted  by  the  deeper 
shadows  under  them,  looked  larger  and  more  violet ;  and 
she  seemed  smaller  and  more  slender;  and  there  was  a 
snowy  quality  to  the  skin  that  made  the  vivid  lips 
appear  painted. 

Desboro  came  forward  from  the  recess  of  the  win 
dow;  and  whether  in  his  haggard  and  altered  features 
she  read  of  his  long  night's  vigil,  or  whether  in  his  eyes 
she  learned  again  how  she  herself  had  changed,  was 
not  plain  to  either  of  them ;  but  her  eyes  suddenly  filled 
and  she  turned  sharply  and  stood  with  the  back  of  one 
slender  hand  across  her  eyes. 

Neither  had  spoken ;  neither  spoke  for  a  full  minute. 
Then  she  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  The 
mating  sparrows  were  very  noisy. 

Not  a  tear  fell;  she  touched  her  eyes  with  a  bit  of 
383 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

lace,  drew  a  long,  deep,  steady  breath  and  turned  to 
ward  him. 

"It  is  all  over — forgive  me,  Jim.  I  did  not  mean  to 
greet  you  this  way.  I  won't  do  it  again " 

She  offered  her  hand  with  a  faint  smile,  and  he  lifted 
it  and  touched  it  to  his  lips. 

"It's  all  over,  all  ended,"  she  repeated.  "Such  a 
curious  phenomenon  happened  to  me  at  sunrise  this 
morning." 

"What?" 

"I  was  born,"  she  said,  laughing.  "Isn't  it  odd  to 
be  born  at  my  age?  So  as  soon  as  I  realised  what  had 
happened,  I  went  and  looked  out  of  the  window;  and 
there  was  the  world,  Jim — a  big,  round,  wonderful 
planet,  all  over  hills  and  trees  and  valleys  and  brooks ! 
I  don't  know  how  I  recognised  it,  having  just  been 
born  into  it,  but  somehow  I  did.  And  I  knew  the  sun, 
loo,  the  minute  I  saw  it  shining  on  my  window  and  felt 
it  on  my  face  and  throat.  Isn't  that  a  wonderful  way 
to  begin  life?" 

There  was  not  a  tremor  in  her  voice,  nothing  tremu 
lous  in  the  sweet  humour  of  the  lips ;  and,  to  his  sur 
prise,  in  her  eyes  little  demons  of  gaiety  seemed  to  be 
dancing  all  at  once  till  they  sparkled  almost  mock 
ingly. 

"Dear,"  he  said,  under  his  breath,  "I  wondered 
whether  you  would  ever  speak  to  me  again." 

"Speak  to  you !  You  silly  boy,  I  expect  to  do  little 
else  for  the  rest  of  my  life!  I  intend  to  converse  and 
argue  and  importune  and  insist  and  nag  and  nag.  Oh, 
Jim!  Please  ring  for  breakfast.  I  had  no  luncheon 
yesterday  and  less  dinner." 

A  slight  colour  glowed  under  the  white  skin  of  her 

884 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 


cheeks  as  Farris  entered  with  the  fruit;  she  lifted  a 
translucent  cluster  of  grapes  from  the  dish,  snipped  it 
in  half  with  the  silver  scissors,  glanced  at  her  husband 
and  laughed. 

"That's  how  hungry  I  am,  Jim.  I  warned  you.  Of 
what  are  you  thinking — with  that  slight  and  rather 
fascinating  smile  crinkling  your  eyes?" 


ee  That's  how   hungry   I   am,   Jim.      I   warned  you'" 

She  bit  into  grape  after  grape,  watching  him  across 
the  table. 

"Share  with  me  whatever  amuses  you,  please !"  she 
insisted.  "Never  with  my  consent  shall  you  ever  again 
laugh  alone." 

"You  haven't  seen  last  evening's  and  this  morning's 
papers,"  he  said,  amused. 

385 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Have  they  arrived?  Oh,  Jim!  I  wish  to  see  them, 
please !" 

He  went  into  his  room  and  brought  out  a  sheaf  of 
clippings. 

"Isn't  this  all  of  the  papers  that  you  cared  to  see, 
Jacqueline  ?" 

"Of  course!  What  do  they  say  about  us?  Are  they 
brief  or  redundant,  laconic  or  diffuse?  And  are  they 
nice  to  us?" 

She  was  already  immersed  in  a  quarter  column  ac 
count  of  "A  Romantic  Wedding"  at  "old  St.  George's" ; 
and  she  read  with  dilated  eyes  all  about  the  "wealthy, 
fashionable,  and  well-known  clubman,"  which  she  under 
stood  must  mean  her  youthful  husband,  and  all  about 
Silverwood  and  the  celebrated  collections,  and  about  his 
lineage  and  his  social  activities.  And  by  and  by  she 
read  about  herself,  and  her  charm  and  beauty  and  per 
sonal  accomplishments,  and  was  amazed  to  learn  that 
she,  too,  was  not  only  wealthy  and  fashionable,  but 
that  she  was  a  descendant  of  an  ancient  and  noble  fam 
ily  in  France,  entirely  extinguished  by  the  guillotine 
during  the  Revolution,  except  for  her  immediate  pro 
genitors. 

Clipping  after  clipping  she  read  to  the  end ;  then 
the  simple  notices  under  "Weddings."  Then  she  looked 
at  Desboro. 

"I — I  didn't  realise  what  a  very  grand  young  man 
I  had  married,"  she  said,  with  a  shy  smile.  "But  I  am 
very  willing  to  admit  it.  Why  do  they  say  such  foolish 
.and  untrue  things  about  me?" 

"They  meant  to  honour  you  by  lying  about  you  when 
the  truth  about  you  is  far  more  noble  and  more  won 
derful,"  he  said. 

386 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"Do  you  doubt  it?" 

She  remained  silent,  turning  over  the  clippings  in 
her  hand;  then,  glancing  up,  found  him  smiling  again. 

"Please  share  with  me — because  I  know  your 
thoughts  are  pleasant." 

"It  was  seeing  you  in  these  pretty  Chinese  robes,"  he 
smiled,  "which  made  me  think  of  that  evening  in  the 
armoury." 

"Oh — when  I  sat  under  the  dragon,  with  my  lute, 
and  said  for  your  guests  some  legends  of  old  Cathay?" 

"Yes.  Seeing  you  here — in  your  Chinese  robes — 
made  me  think  of  their  astonishment  when  you  first 
dawned  on  their  mental  and  social  horizon.  They  are 
worthy  people,"  he  added,  with  a  shrug. 

"They  are  as  God  made  them,"  she  said,  demurely. 

"Only  they  have  always  forgotten,  as  I  have,  that 
God  merely  begins  us — and  we  are  expected  to  do  the 
rest.  For,  once  made,  He  merely  winds  us  up,  sets  our 
hearts  ticking,  and  places  us  on  top  of  the  world. 
Where  we  walk  to,  and  how,  is  our  own  funeral  hence 
forward.  Is  that  your  idea  of  divine  responsibility?" 

"I  think  He  continues  to  protect  us  after  we  start  to 
toddle;  and  after  that,  too,  if  we  ask  Him,"  she  an 
swered,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Do  you  believe  in  prayer,  dear?" 

"Yes — in  unselfish  prayer.  Not  in  the  acquisitive 
variety.  Such  petitions  seem  ignoble  to  me." 

"I  understand." 

She  said,  gravely :  "To  pray — not  for  one's  self — 
except  that  one  cause  no  sorrow — that  seems  to  me  a 
logical  petition.  But  I  don't  know.  And  after  all, 
what  one  does,  not  what  one  talks  about,  counts." 

387 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

She  was  occupied  with  her  grapes,  glancing  up  at 
him  from  moment  to  moment  with  sweet,  sincere  eyes, 
sometimes  curious,  sometimes  shy,  but  always  intent  on 
this  tall,  boyish  young  fellow  who,  she  vainly  tried  to 
realise,  belonged  to  her. 

In  his  morning  jacket,  somehow,  he  had  become  en 
tirely  another  person ;  his  thick,  closely  brushed  hair, 
the  occult  air  of  freshness  from  ablutions  that  left  a 
faint  fragrance  about  him,  accented  their  new  inti 
macy,  the  strangeness  of  which  threatened  at  moments 
to  silence  her.  Nor  could  she  realise  that  she  belonged 
there  at  all — there,  in  her  frail  morning  draperies,  at 
breakfast  with  him  in  a  house  which  belonged  to  him. 

Yet,  one  thing  she  was  becoming  vaguely  aware  of; 
this  tall,  young  fellow,  in  his  man's  intimate  attire,  was 
quietly  and  unvaryingly  considerate  of  her;  had  en 
tirely  changed  from  the  man  she  seemed  to  have  known ; 
had  suddenly  changed  yesterday  at  midnight.  And 
now  she  was  aware  that  he  still  remained  what 
he  had  been  when  he  took  the  white  blossom  from  her 
hand  the  night  before,  and  left  in  her  trembling  palm, 
untouched,  the  symbol  of  authority  which  now  was  his 
forever. 

Even  in  the  fatigue  of  body  and  the  deadlier  mental 
weariness — in  the  confused  chaos  of  her  very  soul,  that 
moment  was  clearly  imprinted  on  her  mind — must  re 
main  forever  recorded  while  life  lasted. 

She  divided  another  grape ;  there  were  no  seeds ;  the 
skin  melted  in  her  mouth. 

"Men,"  she  said  absently,  "are  good."  When  he 
laughed,  she  came  to  herself  and  looked  at  him  with 
shy,  humourous  eyes.  "They  are  good,  Jim.  Even 
the  Chinese  knew  it  thousands  of  years  ago.  Have  you 

388 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

never  heard  me  recite  the  three-word-classic  of  San  Tzu 
Ching?     Then  listen,  white  man! 

"Jen  chih  ch'u 
Hsing  pen  shan 
Hsing  hsiang  chin 
Hsi  hsiang  yuan 
Kou  pu  chiao 
Hsing  nai  ch'ien 
Chiao  chih  tao 
Kuei  i  chuan " 

She  sat  swaying  slightly  to  the  rhythm,  like  a  smil 
ing  child  who  recites  a  rhyme  of  the  nursery,  accenting 
the  termination  of  every  line  by  softly  striking  her* 
palms  together;  and  the  silken  Chinese  sleeves  slipped 
back,  revealing  her  white  arms  to  the  shoulder. 

Softly  she  smote  her  smooth  little  palms  together, 
gracefully  she  swayed;  her  silks  rustled  like  the  sound 
of  slender  reeds  in  a  summer  wind,  and  her  cadenced 
voice  was  softer.  Never  had  he  seen  her  so  exquisite. 

She  stopped  capriciously. 

"All  that  is  Chinese  to  me,"  he  said.  "You  make  me 
feel  solitary  and  ignorant." 

And  she  laughed  and  tossed  the  lustrous  hair  from 
her  cheeks. 

"This  is  all  it  means,  dear: 

"Men  at  their  birth 
Are  naturally  good. 
Their  natures  are  much  the  same; 
Their  habits  become  widely  different. 
If  they  are  not  taught, 
Their  natures  will  deteriorate. 
The  right  way  in  teaching 
Is  to  attach  the  utmost  importance 

to  thoroughness 

389 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

And  so  forth,  and  so  forth,"  she  ended  gaily. 

"Where  on  earth  did  you  learn  Chinese?"  he  re 
monstrated.  "You  know  enough  without  that  to  scare 
me  to  death!  Slowly  but  surely  you  are  overwhelming 
me,  Jacqueline,  and  some  day  I  shall  leave  the  house, 
dig  a  woodchuck  hole  out  on  the  hill,  and  crawl  into  it 
permanently." 

"Then  I'll  have  to  crawl  in,  too,  won't  I?  But,  alas, 
Jim !  The  three-word-classic  is  my  limit.  When  father 
took  me  to  Shanghai,  I  learned  it — three  hundred  and 
fifty-six  lines  of  it !  But  it's  all  the  Chinese  I  know — 
except  a  stray  phrase  or  two.  Cheer  up,  dear;  we 
won't  have  to  look  for  our  shadows  on  that  hill." 

Breakfast  was  soon  accomplished ;  she  looked  shyly 
across  at  him ;  he  nodded,  and  they  rose. 

"The  question  is,"  she  said,  "when  am  I  going  to 
find  time  to  read  the  remainder  of  the  morning  paper, 
and  keep  myself  properly  informed  from  day  to  day, 
if  you  make  breakfast  so  agreeable  for  me?" 

"Have  I  done  that?" 

"You  know  you  have,"  she  said  lightly.  "Suppose 
you  read  the  paper  aloud  to  me,  while  I  stroll  about 
for  the  sake  of  my  figure." 

They  laughed;  he  picked  up  the  paper  and  began  to 
read  the  headlines,  and  she  walked  about  the  room,  her 
hands  bracketed  on  her  hips,  listening  sometimes,  some 
times  absorbed  in  her  own  reflections,  now  and  then 
glancing  out  of  the  window  or  pausing  to  rearrange  a 
bowl  of  flowers. 

Little  by  little,  however,  her  leisurely  progress  from 
one  point  of  interest  to  another  became  more  haphazard, 
and  she  moved  restlessly,  with  a  tendency  to  drift  in 
his  direction. 

390 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Perhaps  she  realised  that,  for  she  halted  suddenly. 

"Jim,  I  have  enough  of  politics,  thank  you.  And 
it's  almost  time  to  put  on  more  conventional  apparel, 
isn't  it?  I  have  a  long  and  hard  day  before  me  at  the 
office." 

"As  hard  as  yesterday?"  he  asked,  unthinkingly; 
then  reddened. 

She  had  moved  to  the  window  as  she  spoke ;  but  he 
had  seen  the  quick,  unconscious  gesture  of  pain  as  her 
hand  flew  to  her  breast ;  and  her  smiling  courage  when 
she  turned  toward  him  did  not  deceive  him. 

"That  was  a  hard  day,  Jim.  But  I  think  the  worst 
is  over.  And  you  may  read  your  paper  if  you  wish 
until  I  am  ready.  You  have  only  to  put  on  your  busi 
ness  coat,  haven't  you?" 

So  he  tried  to  fix  his  mind  on  the  paper,  and,  failing, 
laid  it  aside  and  went  to  his  room  to  make  ready. 

When  he  was  prepared,  he  returned  to  their  sitting 
room.  She  was  not  there,  and  the  door  of  her  bedroom 
was  open  and  the  window-curtains  fluttering. 

So  he  descended  to  the  library,  where  he  found  her 
playing  with  his  assortment  of  animals,  a  cat  tucked 
under  either  arm  and  a  yellow  pup  on  her  knees. 

"They  all  came  to  say  good-morning,"  she  explained, 
"and  how  could  I  think  of  my  clothing?  Would  you 
ask  Farris  to  fetch  a  whisk-broom?" 

Desboro  rang:  "A  whisk-broom  for — for  Mrs.  Des- 
boro,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Desboro! 

She  had  looked  up  startled;  it  was  the  first  time  she 
had  heard  it  from  his  lips,  and  even  the  reiteration  of 
her  maid  had  not  accustomed  her  to  hear  herself  so 
named. 

391 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Both  had  blushed  before  Farris,  both  had  thrilled  as 
the  words  had  fallen  from  Desboro's  unaccustomed  lips ; 
but  both  attempted  to  appear  perfectly  tranquil  and 
undisturbed  by  what  had  shocked  them  as  no  bomb 
explosion  possibly  could.  And  the  old  man  came  back 
with  the  whisk-broom,  and  Desboro  dusted  the  cat 
fur  and  puppy  hairs  from  Jacqueline's  brand-new 
gown. 

They  were  going  to  town  by  train,  not  having  time 
to  spare. 

"It  will  be  full  of  commuters,"  he  said,  teasingly. 
"You  don't  know  what  a  godsend  a  bride  is  to  com 
muters.  I  pity  you." 

"I  shall  point  my  nose  particularly  high,  monsieur. 
Do  you  suppose  I'll  know  anybody  aboard?" 

"What  if  you  don't!  They'll  know  who  you  are! 
And  they'll  all  read  their  papers  and  stare  at  you  from 
time  to  time,  comparing  you  with  what  the  papers  say 
about  you " 

"Jim!  Stop  tormenting  me.  Do  I  look  sallow  and 
horrid?  I  believe  I'll  run  up  to  my  room  and  do  a 
little  friction  on  my  cheeks " 

"With  nail  polish?" 

"How  do  you  know?  Please,  Jim,  it  isn't  nice  to 
know  so  much  about  the  makeshifts  indulged  in  by  my 
sex." 

She  stood  pinching  her  cheeks  and  the  tiny  lobes  of 
her  close-set  ears,  regarding  him  with  beautiful  but 
hostile  eyes. 

"You  know  too  much,  young  man.  You  don't  wish 
to  make  me  afraid  of  you,  do  you?  Anyway,  you  are 
no  expert !  Once  you  thought  my  hair  was  painted, 
and  my  lips,  too.  If  I'd  known  what  you  were  thinking 

392 


THE  BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

I'd  have  made  short  work  of  you  that  rainy  after 
noon " 

"You  did." 

She  laughed:  "You  can  say  nice  things,  too.  Did 
you  really  begin  to — to  care  for  me  that  actual  after 
noon  ?" 

"That  actual  afternoon." 

"A — about  what  time — if  you  happen  to  remember," 
she  asked  carelessly. 

"About   the   same   second   that  I   first   set   eyes   on 

you." 

"Oh,  Jim,  you  couldn't!" 

"Couldn't  what?" 

"Care  for  me  the  actual  second  you  first  set  eyes  on 
me.  Could  you?" 

"I  did." 

"Was  it  that  very  second?" 

"Absolutely." 

"You  didn't  show  it." 

"Well,  you  know  I  couldn't  very  well  kneel  down  and 
make  you  a  declaration  before  I  knew  your  name,  could 
I,  dear?" 

"You  did  it  altogether  too  soon  as  it  was.  Jim, 
what  did  you  think  of  me?" 

"You  ought  to  know  by  this  time." 

"I  don't.  I  suppose  you  took  one  look  at  me  and 
decided  that  I  was  all  ready  to  fall  into  your  arms. 
Didn't  you?" 

"You  haven't  done  it  yet,"  he  said  lightly. 

There  was  a  pause;  the  colour  came  into  her  face, 
and  his  own  reddened.  But  she  pretended  to  be  pleas 
antly  unconscious  of  the  significance,  and  only  inter 
ested  in  reminiscence. 

393 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Do  you  know  what  I  thought  of  you,  Jim,  when 
you  first  came  in?" 

"Not  much,  I  fancy,"  he  conceded. 

"Will  it  spoil  you  if  I  tell  you?" 

"Have  you  spoiled  me  very  much,  Jacqueline?" 

"Of  course  I  have,"  she  said  hastily.  "Listen,  and 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  thought  of  you  when  you  first  came 
in.  I  looked  up,  and  of  course  I  knew  at  a  glance 
that  you  were  nice ;  and  I  was  very  much  im 
pressed " 

"The  deuce  you  were!"  he  laughed,  unbelievingly. 

"I  was !" 

"You  didn't  show  it." 

"Only  an  idiot  of  a  girl  would.  But  I  was — very — 
greatly — impressed,"  she  continued,  with  a  delightfully 
pompous  emphasis  on  every  word,  "very — greatly — im 
pressed  by  the  tall  and  fashionable  and  elegant  and 
agreeably  symmetrical  Mr.  Desboro,  owner  of  the  cele 
brated  collection  of  arms  and  armour ' 

"I  knew  it!" 

"Knew  what?" 

"You  never  even  took  the  trouble  to  look  at  me  until 
you  found  out  that  the  armour  belonged  to  me " 

"That  is  what  ought  to  have  been  true.  But  it 
wasn't." 

"Did  you  actually " 

"Yes,  I   did.      Not   the   very  second  I   laid  eyes  on 

you "    she    added,    blushing    slightly,    "but — when 

you  went  away — and  afterward — that  evening  when  I 
was  trying  to  read  Grenville  on  Armour." 

"You  thought  of  me,  Jacqueline?" 

"Yes — and  tried  not  to.  But  it  was  no  use ;  I  seemed 
to  see  you  laughing  at  me  under  every  helmet  in  Gren- 

394 


-  :    .*••  ...••-,.,.. 


-4-» 

~3 

g 

^ 


I 

CO 

C3 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

ville's  plates.     It  was  rather  odd,  wasn't  it,  Jim?     And 
to  think — to  think  that  now " 

Her  smile  grew  vaguer ;  she  dropped  her  head 
thoughtfully  and  rested  one  hand  on  the  library  table, 
where  once  her  catalogue  notes  had  been  piled  up — 
where  once  Elena's  letter  to  her  husband  had  fallen 
from  Clydesdale's  heavy  hand. 

Then,  gradually  into  her  remote  gaze  came  some 
thing  else,  something  Desboro  had  learned  to  dread; 
and  she  raised  her  head  abruptly  and  gazed  straight 
at  him  with  steady,  questioning  eyes  in  which  there 
was  a  hint  of  trouble  of  some  kind — perhaps  unbelief. 

"I  suppose  you  are  going  to  your  office,"  she  said. 

"After  I  have  taken  you  to  yours,  dear." 

"You  will  be  at  leisure  before  I  am,  won't  you?" 

"Unless  you  knock  off  work  at  four  o'clock.  Can 
you?" 

"I  can  not.     What  will  you  do  until  five,  Jim?" 

"There  will  be  nothing  for  me  to  do  except  wait  for 
you." 

"Where  will  you  wait?" 

He  shrugged:    "At  the  club,  I  suppose." 

The  car  rolled  up  past  the  library  windows. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said  carelessly,  "that  it  would  be 
too  stupid  for  you  to  wait  chez  moi." 

"In  your  office?     No,  indeed " 

"I  meant  in  my  apartment.  You  could  smoke  and 
read — but  perhaps  you  wouldn't  care  to." 

They  went  out  into  the  hall,  where  her  maid  held 
her  ulster  for  her  and  Farris  put  Desboro  into  his 
coat. 

Then  they  entered  the  car  which  swung  around  the 
oval  and  glided  away  toward  Silverwood  station. 

397 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  dear,"  he  said,  "it  would  be 
rather  slow  for  me  to  sit  in  an  empty  room  until  you 
were  ready  to  join  me." 

"Of  course.  You'd  find  it  more  amusing  at  your 
club." 

"I'd  rather  be  with  you  at  your  office." 

"Thank  you.  But  some  of  my  clients  stipulate  that 
no  third  person  shall  be  present  when  their  business 
is  discussed." 

"All  right,"  he  said,  shortly. 

The  faint  warmth  of  their  morning's  rapprochement 
seemed  somehow  to  have  turned  colder,  now  that  they 
were  about  to  separate  for  the  day.  Both  felt  it; 
neither  understood  it.  But  the  constraint  which  per 
haps  they  thought  too  indefinite  to  analyse  persisted. 
She  did  not  fully  understand  it,  except  that,  in  the 
aftermath  of  the  storm  which  had  nigh  devastated  her 
young  heart,  her  physical  nearness  to  him  seemed  to 
help  the  tiny  seed  of  faith  which  she  had  replanted  in 
agony  and  tears  the  night  before. 

To  see  him,  hear  his  voice,  somehow  aided  her;  and 
the  charm  of  his  personality  for  a  while  had  reawak 
ened  and  encouraged  in  her  the  courage  to  love  him. 
The  winning  smile  in  his  eyes  had,  for  the  time,  laid 
the  phantoms  of  doubt;  memory  had  become  less  sen 
sitive;  the  demon  of  distrust  which  she  had  fought  off 
so  gallantly  lay  somewhere  inert  and  almost  forgotten 
in  the  dim  chamber  of  her  mind. 

But  not  dead — no;  for  somewhere  in  obscurity  she 
had  been  conscious  for  an  instant  that  her  enemy  was 
stirring. 

Must  this  always  be  so  ?  Was  faith  in  this  man  really 
dead?  Was  it  only  the  image  of  faith  which  her  loy- 

398 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

alty  and  courage  had  set  up  once  more  for  an  altar  amid 
the  ruins  of  her  young  heart? 

And  always,  always,  eyen  when  she  seemed  unaware, 
even  when  she  had  unconsciously  deceived  herself,  her 
consciousness  of  the  other  woman  remained  alive,  like 
a  spark,  whitened  at  moments  by  its  own  ashes,  yet 
burning  terribly  when  touched. 

Slowly  she  began  to  understand  that  her  supposed 
new  belief  in  this  man  would  endure  only  while  he  was 
within  her  sight ;  that  the  morning's  warmth  had  slowly 
chilled  as  the  hour  of  their  separation  approached; 
that  her  mind  was  becoming  troubled  and  confused,  and 
her  heart  uncertain  and  apprehensive. 

And  as  she  thought  of  the  future — years  and  years 
of  it — there  seemed  no  rest  for  her,  only  endless  effort 
and  strife,  only  the  external  exercise  of  mental  and 
spiritual  courage  to  fight  back  the  creeping  shadow 
which  must  always  threaten  her — the  shadow  that 
Doubt  casts,  and  which  men  call  Fear. 

"Shall  we  go  to  town  in  the  car?"  he  said,  looking 
at  his  watch.  "We  have  time;  the  train  won't  be  in 
for  twenty  minutes." 

"If  you  like." 

He  picked  up  the  speaking  tube  and  gave  his  orders, 
then  lay  back  again  to  watch  the  familiar  landscape 
with  worried  eyes  that  saw  other  things  than  hills  and 
trees  and  wintry  fields  and  the  meaningless  abodes  of 
men. 

So  this  was  what  Fate  had  done  to  him — this!  And 
every  unconsidered  act  of  his  had  been  slyly,  blandly, 
maliciously  leading  him  into  this  valley  of  humiliation. 

He  had  sometimes  thought  of  marrying,  never  very 
definitely,  except  that,  if  love  were  to  be  the  motive, 

399 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

he  would  have  ample  time,  after  that  happened,  to  re 
form  before  his  wedding  day.  Also,  he  had  expected 
to  remain  in  a  laudable  and  permanent  state  of  regen 
eration,  marital  treachery  not  happening  to  suit  his 
fastidious  taste. 

That  was  what  he  had  intended  in  the  improbable 
event  of  marriage.  And  now,  suddenly,  from  a  clear 
sky,  the  bolt  had  found  him ;  love,  courtship,  marriage, 
had  followed  with  a  rapidity  he  could  scarcely  realise; 
and  had  left  him  stranded  on  the  shores  of  yesterday, 
discredited,  distrusted,  deeply,  wretchedly  in  love;  not 
only  unable  to  meet  on  equal  terms  the  young  girl  who 
had  become  his  wife,  but  the  involuntary  executioner  of 
her  tender  faith  in  him! 

To  this  condition  the  laws  of  compensation  consigned 
him.  The  man-made  laws  which  made  his  complaisance 
possible  could  not  help  him  now;  the  unwritten  social 
law  which  acknowledges  a  double  standard  of  purity 
for  man  and  woman  he  must  invoke  in  vain.  Before 
the  tribunal  of  her  clear,  sweet  eyes,  and  before  the 
chastity  of  her  heart  and  mind,  the  ignoble  beliefs,  the 
lying  precedents,  the  false  standards  must  fall. 

There  had  been  no  shelter  there  for  him,  and  he  had 
known  it.  Reticence,  repentance,  humble  vows  for  the 
future — these  had  been  left  to  him,  he  supposed. 

But  the  long,  dim  road  to  yesterday  was  thronged 
with  ghosts,  and  his  destiny  came  swiftly  upon  him. 
Tortured,  humiliated,  helpless,  he  saw  the  lash  that 
cut  him  fall  also  upon  her. 

Sooner  or  later,  all  that  is  secret  of  good  or  of  evil 
shall  be  made  manifest,  here  or  elsewhere ;  and  the  suf 
fering  may  not  be  abated.  And  he  began  to  under 
stand  that  reticence  can  not  forever  hide  what  has  been ; 

400 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

that  no  silence  can  screen  it ;  no  secrecy  conceal  it ;  that 
reaction  invariably  succeeds  action ;  and  not  a  finger 
is  ever  lifted  that  the  universe  does  not  experience  the 
effect. 

How  he  or  fate  might  have  spared  her,  he  did  not 
know.  What  she  had  learned  about  him  he  could  not 
surmise.  As  far  as  Elena  was  concerned,  he  had  been 
no  worse  than  a  fastidious  fool  dangling  about  a  weaker 
and  less  fastidious  one.  If  gossip  of  that  nature  had 
brought  this  grief  upon  her,  it  was  damnable. 

All  he  could  do  was  to  deny  it.  He  had  denied  it. 
But  denial,  alas,  was  limited  to  that  particular  episode. 
He  could  not  make  it  more  sweeping;  he  was  not  on 
equal  ground  with  her;  he  was  at  a  disadvantage.  Only 
spiritual  equality  dare  face  its  peer,  fearless,  serene, 
and  of  its  secrets  unafraid. 

Yet — she  had  surmised  what  he  had  been;  she  had 
known.  And,  insensibly,  he  began  to  feel  a  vague  re 
sentment  toward  her,  almost  a  bitterness.  Because  she 
had  accepted  him  without  any  illusion  concerning  him. 
That  had  been  understood  between  them.  She  knew 
he  loved  her;  she  loved  him.  Already  better  things 
had  been  in  sight  for  him,  loftier  aspirations,  the  stir 
ring  of  ambition.  And  suddenly,  almost  at  the  altar 
itself,  this  thing  had  happened — whatever  it  was !  And 
all  her  confidence  in  him,  all  her  acquiescence  in  what 
had  been,  all  her  brave  words  and  promises — all  except 
the  mere  naked  love  in  her  breast  had  crashed  earthward 
under  its  occult  impact,  leaving  their  altar  on  their 
wedding  night  shattered,  fireless,  and  desolate. 

He  set  his  teeth  and  the  muscles  in  his  cheeks  har 
dened. 

"By  God!"  he  thought.  "I'll  find  out  what  this 
401 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

thing  is,  and  who  has  done  it.  She  knew  what  I  was. 
There  is  a  limit  to  humiliation.  Either  she  shall  again 
accept  me  and  believe  in  me,  or — or " 

But  there  seemed  to  present  itself  no  alternative 
which  he  could  tolerate;  and  the  thread  of  thought 
snapped  short. 

They  were  entering  the  city  limits  now,  and  he  began 
to  realise  that  neither  had  spoken  for  nearly  an  hour. 

He  ventured  to  glance  sideways  at  her.  The  ex 
quisitely  sad  profile  against  the  window  thrilled  him 
painfulty,  almost  to  the  verge  of  anger.  Unwedded, 
she  had  been  nearer  to  him.  Even  in  his  arms,  shy  and 
utterly  unresponsive,  she  had  been  closer,  a  more  vital 
thing,  than  ever  she  had  been  since  the  law  had  made 
her  his  wife. 

For  a  moment  the  brutality  in  him  stirred,  and  he 
felt  the  heat  of  blood  in  his  face,  and  his  heart  grew 
restless  and  beat  faster.  All  that  is  latent  in  man  of 
impatience  with  pain,  of  intolerance,  of  passion,  of 
violence,  throbbed  in  every  vein. 

Then  she  turned  and  looked  at  him.  And  it  was 
ended  as  suddenly  as  it  began.  Only  his  sense  of  help 
lessness  and  his  resentment  remained — resentment 
against  fate,  against  the  unknown  people  who  had  done 
this  thing  to  him  and  to  her;  against  himself  and  his 
folly ;  even  subtly,  yet  illogically,  against  her. 

"I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  "that  we  might  at  least 
lunch  together — if  you  would  care  to." 

"Would  you?"  he  asked  coldly. 

"If  you  would." 

His  lip  began  to  tremble  and  he  caught  it  between 
his  teeth ;  then  his  anger  flared,  and  before  he  meant 
to  he  had  said: 

402 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"A  jolly  luncheon  it  would  be,  wouldn't  it?" 

"What?" 

"I  said  it  would  be  a  jolly  affair — considering  the 
situation." 

"What  is  the  situation,  Jim?"  she  asked,  very  pale. 

"Oh,  what  I've  made  of  it,  I  suppose — a  failure !" 

"I — I  thought  we  were  trying  to  remake  it  into  a 
success." 

"Can  we?" 

"We  must,  Jim." 

"How?" 

She  was  silent. 

"I'll  tell  you  how  we  can  not  make  a  success  out  of 
it,"  he  said  hotly,  "and  that's  by  doing  what  we  have 
been  doing." 

"We  have — have  had  scarcely  time  yet  to  do  any 
thing  very  much." 

"We've  done  enough  to  widen  the  breach  between  us 
— however  we've  managed  to  accomplish  it.  That's  all 
I  know,  Jacqueline." 

"I  thought  the  breach  was  closing." 

"I  thought  so,  too,  this  morning." 

"Wounds  can  not  heal  over  night,"  she  said,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"Wounds  can  not  heal  at  all  if  continually  irri 
tated." 

"I  know  it.  Give  me  a  little  time,  Jim.  It  is  all  so 
new  to  me,  and  there  is  no  precedent  to  follow — and  I 
haven't  very  much  wisdom.  I  am  only  trying  to  find 
myself  so  I  shall  know  how  best  to  serve  you — 

"I  don't  want  to  be  served,  Jacqueline !  I  want  you 
to  love  me " 

"I  do." 

403 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"You  do  in  a  hurt,  reproachful,  frightened,  don't- 
touch-me  sort  of  way " 

"Jim !" 

"I'm  sorry ;  I  don't  know  what  I'm  saying.  There 
isn't  anything  for  me  to  say,  I  suppose.  But  I  don't 
seem  to  have  the  spirit  of  endurance  in  me — humble 
submission  isn't  my  line ;  delay  makes  me  impatient. 
I  want  things  to  be  settled,  no  matter  what  the  cost. 
When  I  repent,  I  repent  like  the  devil — just  as  hard 
and  as  fast  as  I  can.  Then  it's  over  and  done  with. 
But  nobody  else  seems  to  notice  my  regeneration." 

For  a  moment  her  face  was  a  study  in  mixed  emo 
tions,  then  a  troubled  smile  curved  her  lips,  but  her  eyes 
were  unconvinced. 

"You  are  only  a  boy,  aren't  you?"  she  said  gently. 
"I  know  it,  somehow,  but  there  is  still  a  little  awe  of 
you  left  in  me,  and  I  can't  quite  understand.  Won't 
you  be  patient  with  me,  Jim?" 

He  bent  over  and  caught  her  hand. 

"Only  love  me,  Jacqueline " 

"Oh,  I  do !  I  do  !  And  I  don't  know  what  to  do  about 
it!  All  my  thoughts  are  concentrated  on  it,  how  best 
to  make  it  strong,  enduring,  noble !  How  best  to  shelter 
it,  bind  up  its  wounds,  guard  it,  defend  it.  I — I  know 
in  my  heart  that  I've  got  to  defend  it " 

"What  do  you  mean,  my  darling?" 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  know,  Jim.  Only — if  I  knew 
— if  I  could  always  know " 

She  turned  her  head  swiftly  and  stared  out  of  the 
window.  On  the  glass,  vaguely,  Elena's  shadowy  fea 
tures  seemed  to  smile  at  her. 

Was  that  what  tortured  her?  Was  that  what  she 
wished  to  know  when  she  and  this  man  separated  for 

401 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

the  day — where  the  woman  was?  Had  her  confidence 
in  him  been  so  utterly,  so  shamefully  destroyed  that  it 
had  lowered  her  to  an  ignoble  level — hurled  down  her 
dignity  and  self-respect  to  grovel  amid  unworthy  and 
contemptible  emotions?  Was  it  the  vulgar  vice  of  jeal 
ousy  that  was  beginning  to  fasten  itself  upon  her? 

Sickened,  she  closed  her  eyes  a  moment;  but  on  the 
lids  was  still  imprinted  the  face  of  the  woman ;  and  her 
words  began  to  ring  in  her  brain.  And  thought  began 
to  gallop  again,  uncurbed,  frantic,  stampeding.  How 
could  he  have  done  it?  How  could  he  have  carried  on 
this  terrible  affair  after  he  had  met  her,  after  he  had 
known  her,  loved  her,  won  her?  How  could  he  have 
received  that  woman  as  a  guest  under  the  same  roof 
that  sheltered  her?  How  could  he  have  made  a  secret 
rendezvous  with  the  woman  scarcely  an  hour  after  he 
had  asked  her  to  marry  him? 

Even  if  anybody  had  come  to  her  and  told  her  of 
these  things  she  could  have  found  it  in  her  heart  to  find 
excuses,  to  forgive  him;  she  could  have  believed  that 
he  had  received  Elena  and  arranged  a  secret  meeting 
with  her  merely  to  tell  her  that  their  intrigue  was  at  an 
end. 

She  could  have  accustomed  herself  to  endure  the 
knowledge  of  this  concrete  instance.  And,  whatever 
else  he  might  have  done  in  the  past  she  could  endure ; 
because,  to  her,  it  was  something  too  abstract,  too 
vague  and  foreign  to  her  to  seem  real. 

But  the  attitude  and  words  of  Elena  Clydesdale — 
the  unmistakable  impression  she  coolly  conveyed  that 
this  thing  was  not  yet  ended,  had  poisoned  the  very 
spring  of  her  faith  in  him.  And  the  welling  waters 
were  still  as  bitter  as  death  to  her. 

405 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

What  did  faith  matter  to  her  in  the  world  if  she 
could  not  trust  this  man?  Of  what  use  was  it  other 
than  to  believe  in  him?  And  now  she  could  not.  She 
had  tried,  and  she  could  not.  Only  when  he  was  near 
her — only  when  she  might  see  him,  hear  him,  could  she 
ever  again  feel  sure  of  him.  And  now  they  were  to 
separate  for  the  day.  And — where  was  he  going?  And 
where  was  the  other  woman? 

And  her  heart  almost  stopped  in  her  breast  as  she 
thought  of  the  days  and  days  and  years  and  years  to 
come  in  which  she  must  continue  to  ask  herself  these 
questions. 

Yet,  in  the  same  quick,  agonised  breath,  she  knew 
she  was  going  to  fight  for  him — do  battle  in  behalf  of 
that  broken  and  fireless  altar  where  love  lay  wounded. 

There  were  many  ways  of  doing  battle,  but  only  one 
right  way.  And  she  had  thought  of  many — confused, 
frightened,  unknowing,  praying  for  unselfishness  and 
for  light  to  guide  her. 

But  there  were  so  many  ways ;  and  the  easiest  had 
been  to  forgive  him,  surrender  utterly,  cling  to  him, 
love  him  with  every  tenderness  and  grace  and  accom 
plishment  and  art  and  instinct  that  was  hers — with  all 
of  her  ardent  youth,  all  of  her  dawning  emotion,  all  of 
her  undeveloped  passion. 

That  had  been  the  easier  way  in  the  crisis  which 
stunned  and  terrified  her — to  seek  shelter,  not  give  it ; 
to  surrender,  not  to  withhold. 

But  whether  through  wisdom  or  instinct,  she  seemed 
to  see  farther  than  the  momnt — to  divine,  somehow, 
that  his  salvation  and  hers  lay  not  only  in  forgiveness 
and  love,  but  in  her  power  to  give  or  withhold;  her 
freedom  to  exact  what  justly  was  her  due;  in  the  pres- 

406 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

ervation  of  her  individuality  with  all  its  prerogative, 
its  liberty  of  choice,  its  self-respect  unshaken,  its  au 
thority  unweakened  and  undiminished. 

To  yield  when  he  was  not  qualified  to  receive  such 
supreme  surrender  boded  ill  for  her,  and  ultimately  for 
him ;  for  it  made  of  her  merely  an  instrument. 

Somehow  she  seemed  to  know  that  sometime,  for  her, 
would  come  a  moment  of  final  victory ;  and  in  that  mo 
ment  only  her  utter  surrender  could  make  the  victory 
eternal  and  complete. 

And  until  that  moment  came  she  would  not  surrender 
prematurely.  She  had  a  fight  on  her  hands ;  she  knew 
it;  she  must  do  her  best,  though  her  own  heart  were  a 
sword  that  pierced  her  with  every  throb.  For  his  sake 
she  would  deny;  for  his  sake  remain  aloof  from  the 
lesser  love,  inviolate,  powerful,  mistress  of  herself  and 
of  her  destiny. 

And  yet — she  was  his  wife.  And,  after  all  was  said 
and  done,  she  understood  that  no  dual  sovereignty  ever 
is  possible;  that  one  or  the  other  must  have  the  final 
decision;  and  that  if,  when  it  came  to  that,  his  ulti 
mate  authority  failed  him,  then  their  spiritual  union 
was  a  failure,  though  the  material  one  might  endure  for 
a  while. 

And  so,  believing  this,  honest  with  herself  and  with 
him,  she  had  offered  him  her  fealty — a  white  blossom 
and  her  key  lying  beside  it  in  the  palm  of  her  hand — 
in  acknowledgment  that  the  supreme  decision  lay  with 
him. 

He  had  not  failed  her;  the  final  authority  still  lay 
with  him.  Only  that  knowledge  had  sustained  her  dur 
ing  the  long  night. 

The  car  stopped  at  her  establishment;  she  came  out 
407 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

of  her  painful  abstraction  with  a  slight  start,  flushed, 
and  looked  at  him. 

"Will  you  lunch  with  me,  Jim  ?" 

"I  think  I'll  lunch  at  the  club,"  he  said,  coolly. 

"Very  well.    Will  you  bring  the  car  around  at  five?" 

"The  car  will  be  here  for  you." 

"And — you?"     She  tried  to  smile. 

"Probably." 

"Oh!     If  you  have  any  engagements " 

"I  might  make  one  between  now  and  five,"  he  said 
carelessly.  "If  I  do,  I'll  come  up  on  the  train." 

She  had  not  been  prepared  for  this  attitude.  But 
there  was  nothing  to  say.  He  got  out  and  aided  her  to 
descend,  and  took  her  to  the  door.  His  manners  were 
always  faultless. 

"I  hope  you  will  come  for  me,"  she  said,  almost 
timidly. 

"I  hope  so,"  he  said. 

And  that  was  all;  she  offered  her  hand;  he  took  it, 
smiled,  and  replaced  his  hat  after  the  shop  door  closed 
behind  her. 

Then  he  went  back  to  the  car. 

"Drive  me  to  Mrs.  Hammerton's,"  he  said  curtly ;  got 
in,  and  slammed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  SURPRISED  and  very  doubtful  maid  admitted 
him  to  Mrs.  Hammerton's  tiny  reception  room 
and  took  his  card;  and  he  fidgeted  there  im 
patiently  until  the  maid  returned  to  conduct  him. 

Mrs.  Hammerton  sat  at  coffee  in  the  combination 
breakfast  and  dining  room  of  her  pretty  little  apart 
ment.  He  had  never  seen  her  wear  glasses,  but  a  pair, 
presumably  hers,  was  lying  across  the  morning  paper 
on  the  edge  of  the  table. 

Windows  behind  her  threw  her  face  into  shadow 
against  the  sunlight,  and  he  could  not  clearly  distin 
guish  her  features.  A  canary  sang  persistently  in  the 
sunshine ;  a  friendly  cat  yawned  on  the  window  sill. 

"Have  some  coffee,  James  ?"  she  asked,  without  greet 
ing  him. 

"Thanks,  I've  breakfasted." 

"Very  well.  There's  a  chair."  She  motioned  dis 
missal  to  the  maid.  "And  close  the  door!"  she  added 
curtly. 

The  maid  vanished,  closing  the  door.  Aunt  Hannah 
poured  more  coffee  for  herself ;  now  she  began  to  browse 
on  toast  and  bacon. 

"Have  you  seen  the  papers?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

Her  eyes  snapped  fire :  "That  was  a  brave  thing  you 
did!  I  never  knew  any  of  the  Desboros  were  cowards." 

He  looked  at  her  in  angry  astonishment. 
409 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Well,  what  do  you  call  it  if  it  isn't  cowardice — to 
slink  off  and  marry  a  defenseless  girl  like  that !" 

"Did  you  expect  me  to  give  you  a  chance  to  destroy 
me  and  poison  Jacqueline's  mind  ?  If  I  had  been  guilty 
of  the  thing  with  which  you  charge  me,  what  I  have 
done  would  have  been  cowardly.  Otherwise,  it  is  justi 
fied." 

"You  have  been  guilty  of  enough  without  that  par 
ticular  thing  to  rule  you  out." 

"If,"  he  said,  controlling  his  anger,  "you  really  were 
appointed  God's  deputy  on  earth,  you'd  have  to  rule 
out  the  majority  of  men  who  attempt  to  marry." 

"I'd  do  it,  too,"  she  remarked. 

"Fortunately,"  he  went  on,  "your  authority  for  med 
dling  is  only  self  delegated.  You  once  threatened  me. 
You  gave  me  warning  like  a  fair  adversary.  But  even 
rattlesnakes  do  that !" 

He  could  see  her  features  more  plainly  now,  having 
become  accustomed  to  the  light;  and  her  scornful  ex 
pression  and  the  brilliant  danger  in  her  beady  eyes  did 
not  escape  him.  She  darted  at  a  bit  of  toast  and  swal 
lowed  it. 

"So,"  he  ended  calmly,  "I  merely  accepted  the  warn 
ing  and  acted  accordingly — if  you  call  that  cowardly." 

"I  see.  You  were  much  too  clever  for  me.  In  other 
words,  you  forestalled  me,  didn't  you?" 

"Ask  yourself,  Aunt  Hannah." 

"No,  I  ask  you.  You  did  forestall  me,  didn't  you, 
Jim?" 

"I  think  it  amounts  to  that." 

"Oh!  Then  why  are  you  here  at  this  hour  of  the 
morning,  after  your  wedding  night?" 

There  was  a  silence.  Presently  she  put  on  her  glasses 
410 


THE  BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

and  glanced  at  the  paper.  When  he  had  his  temper  and 
his  voice  under  absolute  control  again,  he  said  very 
quietly : 

"Somebody  is  trying  to  make  my  wife  unhappy. 
May  I  ask  if  it  is  you?" 

"Certainly  you  may  ask,  James.  Ask  as  many  times 
as  you  like."  She  continued  to  scan  the  paper. 

"I  do  ask,"  he  insisted. 

She  laid  aside  the  paper  and  took  off  her  glasses : 

"Very  well;  failing  to  obtain  the  desired  informa 
tion  from  me,  why  don't  you  ask  your — wife?" 

"I  have  asked  her,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Oh,  I  see!  Jacqueline  also  refuses  the  desired  in 
formation.  So  you  come  to  inquire  of  me.  Is  that  it?" 

"Yes,  that  is  it." 

"You  go  behind  your  wife's  back " 

"Don't  talk  that  way,  please." 

"Indeed!  Now,  listen  very  attentively,  James,  be 
cause  that  is  exactly  the  way  I  am  going  to  talk  to 
you.  And  I'll  begin  by  telling  you  plainly  just  what 
you  have  done.  You — and  you  know  what  you  are — 
have  married  clandestinely  a  young,  innocent,  inexperi 
enced  girl.  You,  who  are  not  fit  to  decide  the  fate  of 
a  new-born  yellow  pup,  have  assumed  the  irrevocable 
responsibility  of  this  girl's  future — arranged  it  your 
self  in  the  teeth  of  the  eternal  fitness  and  decency  of 
things!  You,  James  Desboro,  a  good-for-nothing 
idler,  irresponsible  spendthrift,  half  bankrupt,  without 
ambition,  without  a  profession,  without  distinction  ex 
cept  that  you  have  good  looks  and  misleading  manners 
and  a  line  of  ancestors  which  would  make  an  English 
man  laugh. 

"When  you  did  this  thing  you  knew  you  were  not 
413 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

fit  to  tie  her  shoes.  You  knew,  too,  that  those  who  really 
love  her  and  who  might  have  shielded  her  except  for 
this — this  treachery,  had  warned  you  to  keep  your 
distance.  You  knew  more  than  that ;  you  knew  that  our 
little  Jacqueline  had  all  her  life  before  her;  that  for 
the  first  time  in  her  brief  career  the  world  was  opening 
its  arms  to  her;  that  she  was  certain  to  be  popular, 
sure  to  be  welcomed,  respected,  liked,  loved.  You  knew 
that  now  she  was  going  to  have  her  chance;  that  men 
of  distinction,  of  attainment,  of  lofty  ideals  and  ir 
reproachable  private  lives — men  well  to  do  materially, 
too — men  of  wealth,  ambitious  men,  forceful  men  who 
count,  certainly  would  seek  her,  surround  her,  prefer 
her,  give  her  what  she  had  a  right  to  have — the  society 
of  her  intellectual  peers — the  exercise  of  a  free,  un- 
trammeled  judgment,  and,  ultimately,  the  opportunity 
to  select  from  among  real  men  the  man  most  worthy  of 
such  a  woman  as  she  is." 

Mrs.  Hammerton  laid  one  shapely  hand  on  the  table, 
fingers  clenched,  and,  half  rising,  fairly  glared  at  Des- 
boro. 

"You  have  cheated  her  out  of  what  was  her  due! 
You  have  stolen  her  future!  You  have  robbed  her  of 
a  happy  and  worthy  career  to  link  her  life  with  your 
career — your  career — or  whatever  you  call  the  futile 
parody  on  life  which  men  of  your  sort  enact,  disgracing 
God  that  He  knew  no  more  than  to  create  you!  And 
my  righteous  anger  against  you  is  not  wholly  personal 
— not  because  you  have  swindled  me  alone — taken  from 
me  the  only  person  I  have  really  ever  cared  for — killed 
her  confidence  in  me,  her  tenderness — but  because  you 
have  cheated  her,  and  the  world,  too !  For  she  is  a  rare 
woman — a  rare,  sweet  woman,  James.  And  that  is 

414 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

what  you  have  done  to  the  civilisation  that  has  tol 
erated  you!" 

He  had  risen,  astounded ;  but  as  her  denunciation  of 
him  became  fiercer,  and  the  concentrated  fury  in  her 
eyes  more  deadly,  a  slightly  dazed  feeling  began  to 
dull  his  own  rage,  and  he  found  himself  listening  as 
though  a  mere  spectator  at  the  terrible  arraignment  of 
another  man. 

He  remained  standing.  But  she  had  finished;  and 
she  was  shaking  a  little  when  she  resumed  her  chair ;  and 
still  he  stood  there,  pallid,  staring  at  space.  For  sev 
eral  minutes  neither  of  them  stirred.  Finally  she  said, 
in  a  harsh  but  modified  voice: 

"I  will  tell  you  this  much.  Since  I  have  known  that 
she  is  married  I  have  not  interfered.  On  the  contrary,, 
I  have  written  her  offering  her  my  love,  my  sympathy, 
and  my  devotion  as  long  as  I  live.  But  it  is  a  terrible 
and  wicked  thing  that  you  have  done.  And  I  can  see 
little  chance  for  her,  little  hope,  and  less  of  happiness 
— when  she  fully  realises  what  she  has  done,  and  what 
you  have  done  to  her — when  she  really  understands 
how  low  she  has  stooped  and  to  what  level  she  has  de 
scended  to  find  the  man  she  has  married." 

He  merely  gazed  at  her  without  expression.  She 
shook  her  head. 

"Hers  will  become  a  solitary  life,  intellectually  and 
spiritually.  There  is  nothing  in  you  to  mate  with  it. 
Only  materially  are  you  of  the  slightest  use — and  I 
think  I  am  not  mistaken  when  I  say  your  usefulness  even 
there  is  pitiably  limited,  and  that  what  you  have  to 
offer  her  will  not  particularly  attract  her.  For  she  is 
a  rare  woman,  James — a  species  of  being  absolutely 
different  from  you.  And  it  had  been  well  for  you,  also* 

415 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

if  you  had  been  wise  enough  to  let  her  alone.  High 
altitudes  don't  agree  with  you ;  and  not  even  the  merry 
company  on  Mount  Olympus — let  alone  the  graver 
gathering  higher  up — are  suitable  for  such  as  you  and 
your  mundane  kind." 

He  nodded,  scarcely  conscious  of  his  mechanical  ac 
quiescence  in  what  she  said.  Hat  and  stick  in  hand, 
he  moved  slowly  toward  the  door.  She,  watching  his 
departure,  said  in  a  lower  voice: 

"You  and  I  are  of  the  same  species.  I  am  no  better 
than  you,  James.  But — she  is  different.  And  you  and 
I  are  capable  of  recognising  that  there  is  a  difference. 
It  seems  odd,  almost  ridiculous  to  find  out  at  this  late 
date  that  it  is  not  an  alliance  with  fashion,  wealth, 
family,  social  connections,  that  can  do  honour  to  Jac 
queline  Nevers,  bourgeoise  daughter  of  a  French  shop 
keeper  ;  it  is  Jacqueline  who  honours  the  caste  to  which, 
alas,  she  has  not  risen,  but  into  which  she  has  descended. 
God  knows  how  far  such  a  sour  and  soggy  loaf  can  be 
leavened  by  such  as  she — or  what  she  can  do  for  you! 
Perhaps " 

She  checked  herself  and  shook  her  head.  He  walked 
back  to  her,  made  his  adieux  mechanically,  then  went 
out  slowly,  like  a  man  in  a  trance. 

Down  in  the  sunny  street  the  car  was  waiting;  he 
entered  and  sat  there,  giving  no  orders,  until  the  chauf 
feur,  leaning  wide  from  his  seat  and  still  holding  open 
the  door,  ventured  to  remind  him. 

"Oh,  yes !  Then — you  may  drive  me  to  Mrs.  Clydes 
dale's." 

But  the  woman  whose  big  and  handsome  house  was 
now  his  destination,  had  forbidden  her  servants  to  dis- 

416 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

turb  her  that  morning ;  so  when  Desboro  presented  him 
self,  only  his  card  was  received  at  the  door. 

Elena,  in  the  drawing-room,  hearing  the  bell,  had 
sprung  to  her  feet  and  stepped  into  the  upper  hall  to 
listen. 

She  heard  Desboro's  voice  and  shivered,  heard  her 
butler  say  that  she  was  not  at  home,  heard  the  bronze 
doors  clash  behind  him. 

Then,  with  death  in  her  heart,  she  went  back  noise 
lessly  into  the  drawing-room  where  Mr.  Waudle,  who 
was  squatting  on  a  delicate  French  chair,  retaining 
his  seat,  coolly  awaited  a  resumption  of  the  inter 
rupted  conference.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  resumed 
it  himself  before  she  was  seated  on  the  sofa  at  his 
elbow. 

"As  I  was  telling  3rou,"  he  continued,  "I've  got  to 
make  a  living.  Why  shouldn't  you  help  me?  We  were 
friends  once.  You  found  me  amusing  enough  in  the 
old  days " 

"Until  you  became  impudent!" 

"Who  provoked  me?  Women  need  never  fear  fa 
miliarity  unless  they  encourage  it!" 

"It  was  absolutely  innocent  on  my  part " 

"Oh,  hell!"  he  said,  disgustedly.  "It's  always  the 
man's  fault!  When  you  pull  a  cat's  tail  and  the  ani 
mal  scratches,  it's  the  cat's  fault.  All  right,  then; 
granted!  But  the  fact  remains  that  if  you  hadn't 
looked  sideways  at  me  it  never  would  have  entered  my 
head  to  make  any  advances  to  you."  Which  was  a  lie. 
All  men  made  advances  to  Elena. 

"Leave  it  so,"  she  said,  with  the  angry  flush  deep 
ening  in  her  cheeks. 

"Sure,  I'll  leave  it;  but  I'm  not  going  to  leave  you. 
417 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Not    yet,    Elena.      You    owe   me    something   for    what 
you've  done  to  me." 

"Oh!  Is  that  the  excuse?"  she  nodded  scornfully; 
but  her  heart  was  palpitating  with  fear,  and  her  lips 
had  become  dry  again. 

He  surveyed  her  insolently  under  his  heavy  eyelids. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it?  You  are  the  fortunate  one;  you  have  everything — 
I  nothing.  And,  plainly,  I'm  sick  of  it.  What  are  you 
going  to  do?" 

"Suppose,"  she  said,  steadily,  "that  I  tell  my  husband 
what  you  are  doing?  Had  you  considered  that  possi 
bility?" 

"Tell  him  if  you  like." 

She  shrugged. 

"What  you  are  doing  is  blackmail,  isn't  it?"  she 
asked  disdainfully. 

"Call  it  what  you  please,"  he  said.  "Suit  your 
self,  Elena.  But  there  is  a  bunch  of  manuscript 
in  the  Tattler's  office  which  goes  into  print  the  mo 
ment  you  play  any  of  your  catty  games  on  me.  Un 
derstand?" 

She  said,  very  pale :  "Will  you  not  tell  me — give  me 
some  hint  about  what  you  have  written?" 

He  laughed:  "Better  question  your  own  memory, 
little  lady.  Maybe  it  isn't  about  you  and  Desboro  at 
all;  maybe  it's  something  else." 

"There  was  nothing  else." 

"There  was — me!" 

"You?" 

"Sure,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "What  happened  in 
Philadelphia,  if  put  skillfully  before  any  jury,  would 
finish  you." 

418 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Nothing  happened!  And  you  know  it!"  she  ex 
claimed,  revolted. 

"But  juries — and  the  public — don't  know.  All  they 
can  do  is  to  hear  the  story  and  then  make  up  their 
minds.  If  you  choose  to  let  them  hear  your  story " 

"There  was  nothing !    I  did  nothing !    Nothing " 

she  faltered. 

"But  God  knows  the  facts  look  ugly,"  he  retorted, 
with  smirking  composure.  "You're  a  clever  girl;  ask 
yourself  what  you'd  think  if  the  facts  about  you  and 
young  Desboro — you  and  me — were  skillfully  brought 
out?" 

She  sat  dumb,  frightened,  twisting  her  fingers;  then, 
in  the  sudden  anger  born  of  torture: 

"If  I  am  disgraced,  what  will  happen  to  you!"  she 
flashed  out — and  knew  in  the  same  breath  that  the 
woman  invariably  perishes  where  the  man  usually  sur 
vives ;  and  sat  silent  and  pallid  again,  her  wide  eyes 
restlessly  roaming  about  her  as  though  seeking  refuge. 

"Also,"  he  said,  "if  you  sue  the  Tattler  for  slander, 
there's  Munger,  you  know.  He  saw  us  in  Philadelphia 
that  night " 

"What!" 

"Certainly.  And  if  a  jury  learned  that  you  and  I 
were  in  the  same " 

"I  did  not  dream  you  were  to  be  in  the  same  hotel — 
in  those  rooms — you  miserable — — " 

"Easy,  little  lady!  Easy,  now!  Never  mind  what 
you  did  or  didn't  dream.  You're  up  against  reality, 
now.  So  never  mind  about  me  at  all.  Let  that  Phila 
delphia  business  go;  it  isn't  essential.  I've  enough  to 
work  on  without  that!" 

"I  do  not  believe  you,"  she  said,  between  her  teeth. 
421 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Oh!    Are  you  really  going  to  defy  me?" 

"Perhaps." 

"I  see,"  he  said,  thoughtfully,  rising  and  looking 
instinctively  around.  He  had  the  quick,  alert  side- 
glance  which  often  characterises  lesser  adepts  in  his 
profession. 

Then,  half  way  to  the  door,  he  turned  on  her  again : 

"Look  here,  Elena,  I'm  tired  of  this!  You  fix  it  so 
that  your  husband  keeps  those  porcelains,  or  I'll  go 
down  town  now  and  turn  in  that  manuscript!  Come 
on!  Which  is  it?" 

"Go,  if  you  like !" 

There  ensued  a  breathless  silence ;  his  fat  hand  was  on 
the  door,  pushing  it  already,  when  a  stifled  exclamation 
from  her  halted  him.  After  a  moment  he  turned  warily. 

"I'm  desperate,"  he  said.  "Pay,  or  I  show  you  up. 
Which  is  it  to  be?" 

"I — how  do  I  know?  What  proof  have  I  that  you 
can  damage  me " 

He  came  all  the  way  back,  moistening  his  thick  lips, 
for  he  had  played  his  last  card  at  the  door ;  and,  for  a 
second,  he  supposed  that  he  was  beaten. 

"Now,  see  here,"  he  said,  "I  don't  want  to  do  this. 
I  don't  want  to  smash  anybody,  let  alone  a  woman. 
But,  by  God!  I'll  do  it  if  you  don't  come  across.  So 
make  up  your  mind,  Elena." 

She  strove  to  sustain  his  gaze  and  he  leered  at  her. 
Finally  he  sat  down  beside  her : 

"I  said  I  wouldn't  give  you  any  proofs.  But  I  guess 
I  will.  I'll  prove  to  you  that  I've  got  you  good  and 
plenty,  little  lady.  Will  that  satisfy  you?" 

"Prove  it!"  she  strove  to  say;  but  her  lips  scarcely 
obeyed  her. 

422 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"All  right.  Do  you  remember  one  evening,  just  be 
fore  Christmas,  when  you  and  your  husband  had  been 
on  the  outs?" 

She  bit  her  lip  in  silence. 

"Do  you?"  he  insisted. 

"Perhaps." 

"All  right,  so  far,"  he  sneered.  '  'Did  he  perhaps  tell 
you  that  he  had  an  appointment  at  the  Kiln  Club  with 
a  man  who  was  interested  in  porcelains  and  jades?" 

"No." 

"Well,  he  did.  He  had  an  appointment  for  that 
night.  I  was  the  man." 

She  understood  nothing. 

"So,"  he  said,  "I  waited  three  hours  at  the  Kiln  Club 
and  your  husband  didn't  show  up.  Then  I  telephoned 
his  house.  You  and  he  were  probably  having  your 
family  row  just  then,  for  the  maid  said  he  was  there, 
but  was  too  busy  to  come  to  the  telephone.  So  I  said 
that  I'd  come  up  to  the  house  in  half  an  hour." 

Still  she  did  not  comprehend. 

"Wait  a  bit,  little  lady,"  he  continued,  with  sly  en 
joyment  of  his  own  literary  methods.  "The  climax 
comes  where  it  belongs,  not  where  you  expect  it.  So 
now  we'll  read  you  a  chapter  in  which  a  bitter  wind 
blows  heavily,  and  a  solitary  taxicab  might  have  been 
seen  outward  bound  across  the  wintry  wastes  of  Gotham 
Town.  Get  me?" 

She  merely  looked  at  him. 

"In  that  low,  black,  rakish  taxi,"  he  went  on,  "sat  an 
enterprising  man  bent  upon  selling  to  your  husband  the 
very  porcelains  which  he « subsequently  bought.  In 
other  words,  /  sat  in  that  taxi.  /  stopped  in  front  of 
this  house ;  /  saw  you  leave,  the  house  and  go  scurrying 

423 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

away  like  a  scared  rabbit.  And  then  I  went  up  the 
steps,  rang,  was  admitted,  told  to  wait  in  the  library. 
I  waited." 

"Where?"     The  word  burst  from  her  involuntarily. 

"In  the  library,"  he  repeated.  "It's  a  nice,  cosy, 
comfortable  place,  isn't  it?  Fine  fat  sofas,  soft  cush 
ions,  fire  in  the  grate — oh,  a  very  comfortable  place, 
indeed !  I  thought  so,  anyway,  while  I  was  waiting  for 
your  husband  to  come  down  stairs." 

"It  appeared  that  he  had  finally  received  my  tele 
phone  message — presumably  after  you  and  he  had  fin 
ished  your  row — and  had  left  word  that  I  was  to  be 
admitted.  That's  why  they  let  me  in.  So  I  waited 
very,  v — ery  comfortably  in  the  library ;  and  somebody 
had  thoughtfully  set  out  cigars,  and  whisky,  and  lemon, 
and  sugar,  and  a  jug  of  hot  water.  It  was  a  cold 
night,  if  you  remember." 

He  paused  long  enough  to  leer  at  her. 

"Odd,"  he  remarked,  "how  pleasantly  things  happen 
sometimes.  And,  as  I  sat  there  in  that  big  leather 
chair — you  must  know  which  one  I  mean,  Elena — it  is 
the  fattest  and  most  comforting — I  smoked  my  cigar 
and  sipped  my  hot  grog,  and  gazed  innocently  around. 
And  what  do  you  suppose  my  innocent  eyes  encountered 
— just  like  that?" 

"W— what?"  she  breathed. 

"Why,  a  letter!"  he  said,  jovially  slapping  his  fat 
thigh,  "a  real  letter  lying  right  in  the  middle  of  the 
table — badly  sealed,  Elena — very  carelessly  sealed — 
just  the  gummed  point  of  the  envelope  clinging 
to  the  body  of  it.  Now,  wasn't  that  a  peculiar 
thing  for  an  enterprising  young  man  to  discover,  I  ask 
you?" 

424 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

He  leered  and  leered  into  her  white  face;  then,  satis 
fied,  he  went  on : 

"The  writing  was  yours,  dearie.  I  recognised  it.  It 
was  addressed  to  your  own  husband,  who  lived  under 
the  same  roof.  And  I  had  seen  you  creep  out,  close  the 
front  door  softly,  and  scurry  away  into  the  night." 
He  made  a  wide  gesture  with  his  fat  hands. 

"Naturally,"  he  said,  "I  thought  I  ought  to  sum 
mon  a  servant  to  call  your  husband,  so  I  could  tell  him 
what  I  had  seen  you  do.  But — there  was  a  quicker 
way  to  learn  what  your  departure  meant — whether 
you  were  at  that  moment  making  for  the  river  or 
for  Maxim's — anyway,  I  knew  there  was  no  time  to 
be  lost.  So " 

She  shrank  away  and  half  rose,  strangling  a  cry  of 
protest. 

"Sure  I  did !"  he  said  coolly.  "I  read  your  note  very 
carefully,  then  licked  the  envelope  and  resealed  it,  and 
put  it  into  my  pocket.  After  all,  Mr.  Desboro  is  a 
man.  It  was  none  of  my  business  to  interfere.  So  I 
let  him  have  what  was  coming  to  him — and  you,  too." 
He  shrugged  and  waved  his  hand.  "Your  husband 
came  down  later;  we  talked  jades  and  porcelains  and 
prices  until  I  nearly  yawned  my  head  off.  And  when 
it  was  time  to  go,  I  slipped  the  letter  back  on  the  table. 
I  After  all,  you  and  Desboro  had  had  your  fling ;  why 
;  shouldn't  hubby  have  an  inning?" 

He  lay  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed  at  the  cower 
ing  woman,  who  had  dropped  her  arms  on  the  back  of 
her  chair  and  buried  her  face  in  them.  Something 
about  the  situation  struck  him  as  being  very  funny. 
He  regarded  her  for  a  few  moments,  then  rose  and 
walked  to  the  door.  There  he  turned. 

425 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Fix  it  for  me!  Understand?"  he  said  sharply;  and 
went  out. 

As  the  bronze  doors  closed  behind  Mr.  Waudle,  Elena 
started  and  lifted  her  frightened  face  from  her  arms. 
For  a  second  or  two  she  sat  there,  listening,  then  rose 
and  walked  swiftly  and  noiselessly  to  the  bay  window. 
Mr.  Waudle  was  waddling  down  the  street.  Across  the 
way,  keeping  a  parallel  course,  walked  the  Cubist  poet, 
his  ankle-high  trousers  flapping.  They  did  not  even 
glance  at  each  other  until  they  reached  the  corner  of 
Madison  Avenue.  Here  they  both  boarded  the  same 
car  going  south.  Mr.  Waudle  was  laughing. 

She  came  back  into  the  drawing-room  and  stood, 
clasped  hands  twisting  in  sheer  agony. 

To  whom  could  she  turn  now?  What  was  there  to 
do?  Since  January  she  had  given  this  man  so  much 
money  that  almost  nothing  remained  of  her  allowance. 

How  could  she  go  to  her  husband  again?  Never 
had  she  betrayed  the  slightest  sympathy  for  him  or 
any  interest  in  his  hobby  until  his  anger  was  awakened 
by  the  swindle  of  which  he  had  been  a  victim. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  under  the  menacing  pressure 
from  Waudle,  she  had  attempted  finesse — manoeuvred 
as  skillfully  as  possible  in  the  short  space  of  time  al 
lotted  her,  cleverly  betrayed  an  awakening  interest  in 
her  husband's  collection,  pretended  to  a  sudden  caprice 
for  the  forgeries  recently  acquired,  and  carried  off 
very  well  her  astonishment  when  informed  that  the 
jades  and  porcelains  were  swindling  imitations  made 
in  Japan. 

It  had  been  useless  for  her  to  declare  that,  whatever 
they  were,  she  liked  them.  Her  husband  would  have 
none  of  them  in  spite  of  his  evident  delight  in  her  sud- 

426 


"What  was  she  to  do?     She  had  gone  half  mad  with  fear' 


THE  BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

den  interest.  He  promised  to  undertake  her  schooling 
in  the  proper  appreciation  of  all  things  Chinese — prom 
ised  to  be  her  devoted  mentor  and  companion  in  the 
eternal  hunt  for  specimens.  Which  was  scarcely  what 
she  wanted. 

But  he  flatly  refused  to  encourage  her  in  her  admira 
tion  for  these  forgeries  or  to  tolerate  such  junk  under 
his  roof. 

What  was  she  to  do?  She  had  gone,  half  mad  with 
fear,  to  throw  herself  upon  the  sympathy  and  mercy  of 
Jacqueline  Nevers.  Terrified,  tortured,  desperate,  she 
had  even  thought  to  bribe  the  girl  to  pronounce  the 
forgeries  genuine.  Then,  suddenly,  at  the  mere  men 
tion  of  Desboro,  she  had  gone  all  to  pieces.  And  when 
it  became  clear  to  her  that  there  was  already  an  under 
standing  between  this  girl  and  the  man  she  had  counted 
on  as  her  last  resort,  fear  and  anger  completed  her 
demoralisation. 

She  remembered  the  terrible  scene  now,  remembered 
what  she  had  said — her  shameless  attitude — the  shame 
ful  lie  which  her  words  and  her  attitude  had  forced 
Jacqueline  to  understand. 

Why  she  had  acted  such  a  monstrous  falsehood  she 
scarcely  knew ;  whether  it  had  been  done  to  cut  the  sus 
pected  bond  between  Desboro  and  Jacqueline  before 
it  grew  too  strong  to  sever — whether  it  had  been  sheer 
hysteria  under  the  new  shock — whether  it  was  reckless 
despair  that  had  hardened  her  to  a  point  where  she 
meant  to  take  the  final  plunge  and  trust  to  Desboro's 
chivalry,  she  did  not  know  then ;  she  did  not  know  now. 

But  the  avalanche  she  had  loosened  that  night  in 
December,  when  she  wrote  her  note  and  went  to  Silver- 
wood,  was  still  thundering  along  behind  her,  gathering 

429 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

new  force  every  day,  until  the  menacing  roar  of  it 
never  ceased  in  her  ears. 

And  now  it  had  swept  her  last  possible  resource  away 
— Desboro.  All  her  humiliation,  all  her  shame,  the  lie 
she  had  acted,  had  not  availed.  This  girl  had  married 
him  after  all.  Like  a  lightning  stroke  the  news  of 
their  wedding  had  fallen  on  her.  And  on  the  very  heels 
of  it  slunk  the  blackmailer  with  his  terrifying  bag  of 
secrets. 

Where  was  she  to  go?  To  her  husband?  It  was 
useless.  To  Desboro?  It  was  too  late.  Even  now, 
perhaps,  he  was  listening  scornfully  to  his  young  wife's 
account  of  that  last  interview.  She  could  see  the  con 
tempt  in  his  face — contempt  for  her — for  the  woman 
who  had  lied  to  avow  her  own  dishonour. 

Why  had  he  come  to  see  her  then  ?  To  threaten  her  ? 
To  warn  her?  To  spurn  her?  Yet,  that  was  not  like 
Desboro.  Why  had  he  come?  What  she  had  said  and 
intimated  to  Jacqueline  was  done  after  the  girl  was  a 
wife.  Could  it  be  possible  that  Jacqueline  was  visiting 
her  anger  on  Desboro,  having  learned  too  late  that 
which  would  have  prevented  her  from  marrying  him  at 
all? 

Elena  crept  to  the  sofa  and  sank  down  in  a  heap, 
cowering  there  in  one  corner,  striving  to  think. 

What  would  come  of  it?  Would  this  proud  and 
chaste  young  girl,  accepting  the  acted  lie  as  truth,  re 
sent  it?  By  leaving  Desboro?  By  beginning  a  suit 
for  divorce — and  naming 

Elena  cringed,  stifling  a  cry  of  terror.  What  had 
she  done?  Every  force  she  had  evoked  was  concentrat 
ing  into  one  black  cloud  over  her  head,  threatening  her 
utter  destruction.  Everything  she  had  done  since  that 

430 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

December  night  was  helping  the  forces  gathering  to 
annihilate  her.  Even  Desboro,  once  a  refuge,  was  now 
part  of  this  tempest  about  to  be  unloosened. 

Truly  she  had  sowed  the  wind,  and  the  work 
of  her  small  white  hands  was  already  established  upon 
her. 

Never  in  her  life  had  she  really  ever  cared  for  any 
man.  Her  caprice  for  Desboro,  founded  on  the  lesser 
motives,  had  been  the  nearest  approach. 

It  had  cost  her  all  her  self-control,  all  her  courage, 
to  play  the  diplomat  with  her  husband  for  the  sake  of 
obtaining  his  consent  to  keep  the  forged  porcelains. 
And  after  all  it  had  been  in  vain. 

In  spite  of  her  white  misery  and  wretchedness,  now, 
as  she  sat  there  in  the  drawing-room  alone,  her  cheeks 
crimsoned  hotly  at  the  memory  of  her  arts  and  wiles 
and  calineries;  of  her  new  shyness  with  the  man  she 
had  never  before  spared ;  of  her  clever  attitude  toward 
him,  the  apparent  dawn  of  tenderness,  the  faint  provo 
cation  in  her  lifted  eyes —  God !  It  should  have  been 
her  profession,  for  she  had  taken  to  it  like  a  woman 
of  the  streets — had  submitted  like  one,  earning  her  pay. 
And,  like  many,  had  been  cheated  in  the  end. 

She  rose  unsteadily,  cooling  her  cheeks  in  her  hands 
and  gazing  vacantly  in  front  of  her. 

She  had  not  been  well  for  a  few  days ;  had  meant  to 
see  her  physician.  But  in  the  rush  of  events  envelop 
ing  her  there  had  been  no  moment  to  think  of  mere 
bodily  ills. 

Now,  dizzy,  trembling,  and  faintly  nauseated,  she 
stood  supporting  her  weight  on  a  gilded  chair,  closing 
her  eyes  for  a  moment  to  let  the  swimming  wretched 
ness  pass. 

431 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

It  passed  after  a  while,  leaving  her  so  utterly  mis 
erable  that  she  leaned  over  and  rang  for  a  maid. 

"Order  the  car — the  Sphex  limousine,"  she  said. 
"And  bring  me  my  hat  and  furs." 

"Yes,  madame." 

"And — my  jewel  box.  Here  is  the  key "  detach 
ing  a  tiny  gold  one  from  its  chain  in  her  bosom.  "And 
if  Mr.  Clydesdale  comes  in,  say  to  him  that  I  have  gone 
to  the  doctor's." 

"Yes,  madame." 

"And-^I  shall  take  some  jewels  to — the  safe  deposit 
— one  or  two  pieces  which  I  don't  wear." 

The  maid  was  silent. 

"Do  you  understand  about  the — jewels?" 

"Yes,  madame." 

She  went  away.  Presently  she  returned  with  Elena's 
hat  and  furs  and  jewel  box.  The  private  garage  ad 
joined  the  house;  the  car  rolled  out  before  she  was 
ready. 

On  the  way  down  town  she  was  afraid  she  would 
faint — almost  wished  she  would.  The  chauffeur's 
instructions  landed  her  at  a  jeweler's  where  she  was  not 
known. 

A  few  moments  later,  in  a  private  office,  a  grey  old 
gentleman  very  gently  refused  to  consider  the  purchase 
of  any  jewelry  from  her  unless  he  knew  her  name,  resi 
dence,  and  other  essentials  which  she  flatly  declined  to 
give. 

So  a  polite  clerk  put  her  into  her  car  and  she  di 
rected  the  chauffeur  to  Dr.  Allen's  office,  because  she 
felt  really  too  ill  for  the  moment  to  continue  her  search. 
Later  she  would  manage  to  find  somebody  who  would 
buy  sufficient  of  her  jewelry  to  give  her — and  Mr. 

432 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Waudle — the  seven  thousand  dollars  necessary  to  avoid 
exposure. 

Dr.  Allen  was  in — just  returned.  Only  one  patient 
was  ahead  of  her.  Presently  she  was  summoned,  rose 
with  an  effort,  and  went  in. 

The  physician  was  a  very  old  man ;  and  after  he  had 
questioned  her  for  a  few  moments  he  smiled.  And  at 
the  same  instant  she  began  to  understand;  got  to  her 
feet  blindly,  stood  swaying  for  a  moment,  then  dropped 
as  he  caught  her. 

Neither  the  physician  nor  the  trained  nurse  who  came 
in  at  his  summons  seemed  to  be  very  greatly  worried. 
As  they  eased  the  young  wife  and  quietly  set  about 
reviving  her,  they  chatted  carelessly.  Later  Elena 
opened  her  eyes.  Later  still  the  nurse  went  home  with 
her  in  her  limousine. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ABOUT  midday  Clydesdale,  who  had  returned 
to  his  house  from  a  morning  visit  to  his  at 
torney  in  Liberty  Street,  was  summoned  to  the 
telephone. 

"Is  that  you,  Desboro?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.  I  stopped  this  morning  to  speak  to  your  wife 
a  moment,  but  very  naturally  she  was  not  at  home  to 
me  at  such  an  hour  in  the  morning.  I  have  just  called 
her  on  the  telephone,  but  her  maid  says  she  has  gone 
out." 

"Yes.  She  is  not  very  well.  I  understand  she  has 
gone  to  see  Dr.  Allen.  But  she  ought  to  be  back  pretty 
soon.  Won't  you  come  up  to  the  house,  Desboro?" 

There  was  a  short  pause,  then  Desboro's  voice  again, 
in  reply: 

"I  believe  I  will  come  up,  Clydesdale.  And  I  think 
I'll  talk  to  you  instead  of  to  your  wife." 

"Just  as  it  suits  you.  Very  glad  to  see  you  any 
way.  I'll  be  in  the  rear  extension  fussing  about  among 
the  porcelains." 

"I'll  be  with  you  in  ten  minutes." 

In  less  time  than  that  Desboro  arrived,  and  was 
piloted  through  the  house  and  into  the  gallery  by  an 
active  maid.  At  the  end  of  one  of  the  aisles  lined  by 
glass  cases,  the  huge  bulk  of  Gary  Clydesdale  loomed, 
his  red  face  creased  with  his  eternal  grin. 

434 


THE  BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Hello,  Desboro!"  he  called.  "Come  this  way.  I've 
one  or  two  things  here  which  will  match  any  of  yours 
at  Silverwood,  I  think." 

And,  as  Desboro  approached,  Clydesdale  strode  for 
ward,  offering  him  an  enormous  hand. 

"Glad  to  see  you,"  he  grinned.  "Congratulations  on 
your  marriage !  Fine  girl,  that !  I  don't  know  any 
to  match  her."  He  waved  a  comprehensive  arm.  "All 
this  stuff  is  her  arrangement.  Gad !  But  I  had  it  rot 
tenly  displaj^ed.  And  the  collection  was  full  of  fakes, 
too.  But  she  came  floating  in  here  one  morning,  and 
what  she  did  to  my  junk-heap  was  a  plenty,  believe 
me!"  And  the  huge  fellow  grinned  and  grinned  until 
Desboro's  sombre  face  altered  and  became  less  rigid. 

A  maid  appeared  with  a  table  and  a  frosted  cocktail 
shaker. 

"You'll  stop  and  lunch  with  us,"  said  Clydesdale,  fill 
ing  two  glasses.  "Elena  won't  be  very  long.  Don't 
know  just  what  ails  her,  but  she's  nervous  and  run 
down.  I  guess  it's  the  spring  that's  coming.  Well, 
here's  to  all  bad  men ;  they  need  the  boost  and  we  don't. 
Prosit!" 

He  emptied  his  glass,  set  it  aside,  and  from  the  open 
case  beside  him  extracted  an  exquisite  jar  of  the  Kang- 
He,  famille  noire,  done  in  five  colours  during  the  best 
period  of  the  work. 

"God  knows  I'm  not  proud,"  he  said,  "but  can  you 
beat  it,  Desboro?" 

Desboro  took  the  beautiful  jar,-  and,  carefully  guard 
ing  the  cover,  turned  it  slowly.  Birds,  roses,  pear  blos 
soms,  lilies,  exquisite  in  composition  and  colour,  passed 
under  his  troubled  eyes.  He  caressed  the  paste  me 
chanically. 

4-35 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"It  is  very  fine,"  he  said. 

"Have  you  anything  to  beat  it?" 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"How  are  yours  marked?"  inquired  the  big  man, 
taking  the  jar  into  his  own  enormous  paws  as  lovingly 
as  a  Kadiak  bear  embraces  her  progeny.  "This  mag 
nificent  damn  thing  is  a  forgery.  Look !  Here's  the 
mark  of  the  Emperor  Ching-hwa !  Isn't  that  the  limit? 
And  the  forgery  is  every  bit  as  fine  as  the  originals 
made  before  1660 — only  it  happened  to  be  the  fashion 
in  China  in  1660  to  collect  Ching-hwa  jars,  so  the  maker 
of  this  piece  deliberately  forged  an  earlier  date.  Can 
you  beat  it?" 

Desboro  smiled  as  though  he  were  listening;  and 
Clydesdale  gingerly  replaced  the  jar  and  as  carefully 
produced  another. 

"Ming!"  he  said.  "Seventeenth  century  Manchu 
Tartar.  I've  some  earlier  Ming  ranging  between  1400 
A.D.  and  1600;  but  it  can't  touch  this,  Desboro.  In 
fact,  I  think  the  eighteenth  century  Ming  is  even  finer; 
and,  as  far  as  that  goes,  there  is  magnificent  work  be 
ing  done  now — although  the  occidental  markets  sel 
dom  see  it.  But — Ming  for  mine,  every  time!  How 
do  you  feel  about  it,  old  top?" 

Desboro  looked  at  the  vase.  The  soft  beauty  of 
the  blue  underglaze,  the  silvery  thickets  of  magnolia 
bloom  amid  which  a  magnificent,  pheasant-hued  phoenix 
stepped  daintily,  meant  at  the  moment  absolutely  noth 
ing  to  him. 

Nor  did  the  poudre-bleu  jar,  triumphantly  exhibited 
by  the  infatuated  owner — a  splendid  specimen  painted 
on  the  overglaze.  And  the  weeds  and  shells  and  fiery 
golden  fishes  swimming  had  been  dimmed  a  little  by 

436 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

rubbing,  so  that  the  dusky  aquatic  depths  loomed  more 
convincingly. 

"Clydesdale,"  said  Desboro  in  a  low  voice,  "I  want 
to  say  one  or  two  things  to  you.  Another  time  it 
would  give  me  pleasure  to  go  over  these  porcelains  with 
you.  Do  you  mind  my  interrupting  you?" 

The  big  man  grinned. 

"Shoot,"  he  said,  replacing  the  "powder-blue"  and 
carefully  closing  and  locking  the  case.  Then, 
dropping  the  keys  into  his  pocket,  he  came  over 
to  where  Desboro  was  seated  beside  the  flimsy  fold 
ing  card-table,  shook  the  cocktail  shaker,  offered  to 
fill  Desboro's  glass,  and  at  a  gesture  of  refusal  refilled 
his  own. 

"This  won't  do  a  thing  to  my  appetite,"  he  remarked 
genially.  "Go  ahead,  Desboro."  And  he  settled  him 
self  to  listen,  with  occasional  furtive,  sidelong  glances 
at  his  beloved  porcelains. 

Desboro  said:  "Clydesdale,  you  and  I  have  known 
each  other  for  a  number  of  years.  We  haven't  seen 
much  of  each  other,  except  at  the  club,  or  meeting  cas 
ually  here  and  there.  It  merely  happened  so;  if  acci 
dent  had  thrown  us  together,  the  chances  are  that  we 
would  have  liked  each  other — perhaps  sought  each 
other's  company  now  and  then — as  much  as  men  do 
in  this  haphazard  town,  anyway.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

Clydesdale  nodded. 

"But  we  have  been  on  perfectly  friendly  terms,  al-> 
ways — with  one  exception,"  said  Desboro. 

"Yes — with  one  exception.  But  that  is  all  over 
now " 

"I  am  afraid  it  isn't." 

437 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Clydesdale's  grin  remained  unaltered  when  he  said: 
"Well,  what  the  hell "  and  stopped  abruptly. 

"It's  about  that  one  exception  of  which  I  wish  to 
speak,"  continued  Desboro,  after  a  moment's  thought. 
"I  don't  want  to  say  very  much — just  one  or  two 
things  which  I  hope  you  already  know  and  believe. 
And  all  I  have  to  say  is  this,  Clydesdale;  whatever  I 
may  have  been — whatever  I  may  be  now,  that  sort  of 
treachery  is  not  in  me.  I  make  no  merit  of  it — it  may 
be  mere  fastidiousness  on  my  part  which  would  prevent 
me  from  meditating  treachery  toward  an  acquaintance 
or  a  friend." 

Clydesdale  scrutinised  him  in  silence. 

"Never,  since  Elena  was  your  wife,  have  I  thought 
of  her  except  as  your  wife." 

Clydesdale  only  grinned. 

"I  want  to  be  as  clear  as  I  can  on  this  subject,"  con 
tinued  the  other,  "because — and  I  must  say  it  to  you — 
there  have  been  rumours  concerning — me." 

"And  concerning  her,"  said  Clydesdale  simply. 
"Don't  blink  matters,  Desboro." 

"No,  I  won't.  The  rumours  have  included  her,  of 
course.  But  what  those  rumours  hint,  Clydesdale,  is 
an  absolute  lie.  I  blame  myself  in  a  measure ;  I  should 
not  have  come  here  so  often — should  not  have  continued 
to  see  Elena  so  informally.  I  was  in  love  with  her  once ; 
I  did  ask  her  to  marry  me.  She  took  you.  Try  to 
believe  me,  Clydesdale,  when  I  tell  you  that  though 
for  me  there  did  still  linger  about  her  that  inexplicable 
eharm  which  attracted  me,  which  makes  your  wife  so 
attractive  to  everybody,  never  for  a  moment  did  it  oc 
cur  to  me  not  to  acquiesce  in  the  finality  of  her  choice. 
Never  did  I  meditate  any  wrong  toward  you  or  toward 

438 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

her.  I  did  dangle.  That  was  where  I  blame  myself. 
Because  where  a  better  man  might  have  done  it  un- 
criticised,  I  was,  it  seems,  open  to  suspicion." 

"You're  no  worse  than  the  next,"  said  Clydesdale  in 
a  deep  growl.  "Hell's  bells !  I  don't  blame  you!  And 
there  would  have  been  nothing  to  it  anyway  if  Elena 
had  not  lost  her  head  that  night  and  bolted.  I  was 
rough  with  you  all  right ;  but  you  behaved  handsomely ; 
and  I  knew  where  the  trouble  was.  Because,  Desboro, 
my  wife  dislikes  me." 

"I  thought " 

"No!  Let's  have  the  truth,  damn  it!  That's  the 
truth!  My  wife  dislikes  me.  It  may  be  that  she  is 
crazy  about  you;  I  don't  know.  But  I  am  inclined  to 
think — after  these  months  of  hell,  Desboro — that  she 
really  is  not  crazy  about  you,  or  about  any  man ;  that 
it  is  only  her  dislike  of  me  that  possesses  her  to — to 
deal  with  me  as  she  has  done." 

He  was  still  grinning,  but  his  heavy  lower  lip 
twitched,  and  suddenly  the  horror  of  it  broke  on  Des 
boro — that  this  great,  gross,  red-faced  creature  was 
suffering  in  every  atom  of  his  unwieldy  bulk ;  that  the 
fixed  grin  was  covering  anguish;  that  the  man's  heart 
was  breaking  there,  now,  where  he  sat,  the  rictus  mortis 
stamped  on  his  quivering  face. 

"Clydesdale,"  he  said,  unsteadily,  "I  came  here 
meaning  to  say  only  what  I  have  said — that  you  never 
had  anything  to  doubt  in  me — but  that  rumours  still 
coupled  my  name  with  Elena's.  That  was  all  I  meant 
to  say.  But  I'll  say  more.  I'm  sorry  that  things  are 
not  going  well  with  you  and  Elena.  I  would  do  any 
thing  in  the  world  that  lay  within  my  power  to  help 
make  yours  a  happy  marriage.  But — marriages  all 

439 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

seem  to  go  wrong.  For  years — witnessing  what  I 
have — what  everybody  among  our  sort  of  people  can 
not  choose  but  witness — I  made  up  my  mind  that  mar 
riage  was  no  good." 

He  passed  his  hand  slowly  over  his  eyes ;  waited  a 
moment,  then : 

"But  I  was  wrong.  That's  what  the  matter  is — 
that  is  how  the  matter  lies  between  the  sort  of  people 
we  are  and  marriage.  It  is  we  who  are  wrong;  there's 
nothing  wrong  about  marriage,  absolutely  nothing.  Only 
many  of  us  are  not  fit  for  it.  And  some  of  us  take  it 
as  a  preventive,  as  a  moral  medicine — as  though  any 
body  could  endure  an  eternal  dosing!  And  some  of 
us  seek  it  as  a  refuge — a  refuge  from  every  ill,  every 
discomfort,  every  annoyance  and  apprehension  that  as 
sails  the  human  race — as  though  the  institution  of  mar 
riage  were  a  vast  and  fortified  storehouse  in  which 
everything  we  have  ever  lacked  and  desired  were  lying 
about  loose  for  us  to  pick  up  and  pocket." 

He  bent  forward  across  the  table  and  began  to  play 
absently  with  his  empty  glass. 

"Marriage  is  all  right,"  he  said.  "But  only  those 
fit  to  enter  possess  the  keys  to  the  magic  institution. 
And  they  find  there  what  they  expected.  The  rest  of 
us  jimmy  our  way  in,  and  find  ourselves  in  an  empty 
mansion,  Clydesdale." 

For  a  long  while  they  sat  there  in  silence ;  Desboro 
fiddling  with  his  empty  glass,  the  other,  motionless, 
his  ponderous  hands  clasped  on  his  knees.  At  length, 
Desboro  spoke  again:  "I  do  not  know  how  it  is  with 
you,  but  I  am  not  escaping  anything  that  I  have  ever 
done." 

"I'm   getting  mine,"   said   Clydesdale  heavily. 
440 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

After  a  few  moments,  what  Desboro  had  said  filtered 
into  his  brain ;  and  he  turned  and  looked  at  the  younger 
man. 

"Have  these  rumours "  he  began.  And  Desboro 

nodded : 


"  'Jacqueline — my  wife — is  the  result  of   a  different 
training'  " 

"These  rumours — or  others.  These  happen  not  to 
have  been  true." 

"That's  tough  on  her,"  said  Clydesdale  gravely. 

"That's  where  it  is  toughest  on  us.  I  think  we  could 
stand  anything  except  that  they  should  suffer  through 
us.  And  the  horrible  part  of  it  is  that  we  never  meant  to 

441 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

— never  dreamed  that  we  should  ever  be  held  responsi 
ble  for  the  days  we  lived  so  lightly — gay,  careless,  ir 
responsible  days — God!  Is  there  any  punishment  to 
compare  with  it,  Clydesdale?" 

"None." 

Desboro  rose  and  stood  with  his  hand  across  his  fore 
head,  as  though  it  ached. 

"You  and  Elena  and  I  are  products  of  the  same 
kind  of  civilisation.  Jacqueline — my  wife — is  the  re 
sult  of  a  different  training  in  a  very  different  civilisa 
tion." 

"And  the  rottenness  of  ours  is  making  her  ill." 

Desboro  nodded.  After  a  moment  he  stirred  rest 
lessly. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  must  go  to  the  office.  I  haven't 
been  there  yet." 

Clydesdale  got  onto  his  feet. 

"Won't  you  stay?" 

"No." 

"As  you  wish.  And — I'm  sorry,  Desboro.  However, 
you  have  a  better  chance  than  I — to  make  good.  My 
wife — dislikes  me." 

He  went  as  far  as  the  door  with  his  guest,  and  when 
Desboro  had  departed  he  wandered  aimlessly  back  into 
the  house  and  ultimately  found  himself  among  his  por 
celains  once  more — his  only  refuge  from  a  grief  and 
care  that  never  ceased,  never  even  for  a  moment  eased 
those  massive  shoulders  of  their  dreadful  weight. 

From  where  he  stood,  he  heard  the  doorbell  sounding 
distantly.  Doubtless  his  wife  had  returned.  Doubtless, 
too,  as  long  as  there  was  no  guest,  Elena  would  pre 
fer  to  lunch  alone  in  her  own  quarters,  unless  she  had 
an  engagement  to  lunch  at  the  Ritz  or  elsewhere. 

442 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

He  had  no  illusion  that  she  desired  to  see  him,  or 
that  she  cared  whether  or  not  he  inquired  what  her  phy 
sician  had  said ;  but  he  closed  and  locked  his  glass  cases 
once  more  and  walked  heavily  into  the  main  body  of 
the  house  and  descended  to  the  door. 

To  the  man  on  duty  there  he  said:  "Did  Mrs. 
Clydesdale  come  in?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Thank  you." 

He  hesitated,  turned  irresolutely,  and  remounted  the 
stairs.  To  a  maid  passing  he  said: 

"Is  Mrs.  Clydesdale  lunching  at  home?" 

"Yes,  sir.     Mrs.  Clydesdale  is  not  well,  sir." 

"Has  she  gone  to  her  room?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Please  go  to  her  and  say  that  I  am  sorry  and — 
and  inquire  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do." 

The  maid  departed  and  the  master  of  the  house  wan 
dered  into  the  music-room — perhaps  because  Elena's 
tall,  gilded  harp  was  there — the  only  thing  in  the  place 
that  ever  reminded  him  of  her,  or  held  for  him  anything 
of  her  personality. 

Now,  in  the  rose  dusk  of  the  drawn  curtains,  he 
stood  beside  it,  not  touching  it — never  dreaming  of 
touching  it  without  permission,  any  more  than  he  would 
have  touched  his  wife. 

Somebody  knocked;  he  turned,  and  the  maid  came 
forward. 

"Mrs.   Clydesdale  desires  to   see  you,  sir." 

He  stared  for  a  second,  then  his  heart  beat  heavily 
with  alarm. 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Clydesdale?" 

"In  her  bedroom,  sir." 

443 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Unwell?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"In  bed?" 

"I  think  so,  sir.  Mrs.  Clydesdale's  maid  spoke  to 
me." 

"Very  well.     Thank  you." 

He  went  out  and  mounted  the  stairs,  striding  up  si 
lently  to  the  hall  above,  where  his  wife's  maid  quietly 
opened  the  door  for  him,  then  went  away  to  her  own 
little  chintz-lined  den. 

Elena  was  lying  on  her  bed  in  a  frilly,  lacy, 
clinging  thing  of  rose  tint.  The  silk  curtains  had 
been  drawn,  but  squares  of  sunlight  quartered  them, 
turning  the  dusk  of  the  pretty  room  to  a  golden 
gloom. 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  up  at  him  as  he 
advanced. 

"I'm  terribly  sorry,"  he  said;  and  his  heavy  voice 
shook  in  spite  of  him. 

She  motioned  toward  the  only  armchair — an  ivory- 
covered  affair,  the  cane  bottom  covered  by  a  rose 
cushion. 

"Bring  it  here — nearer,"  she  said. 

He  did  so,  and  seated  himself  beside  the  bed  cau 
tiously. 

She  lay  silent  after  that;  once  or  twice  she  pressed 
the  palms  of  both  hands  over  her  eyes  as  though  they 
pained  her,  but  when  he  ventured  to  inquire,  she  shook 
her  head.  It  was  only  when  he  spoke  of  calling  up  Dr. 
Allen  again  that  she  detained  him  in  his  chair  with  a 
gesture : 

"Wait !  I've  got  to  tell  you  something !  I  don't 
know  what  you  will  do  about  it.  You've  had  trouble 

444 


THE   BUSINESS   OF 


enough  —  with  me.  But  this  is^-is—  rimspeak- 
able  -  " 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter?  Aren't  yc/u  ill?"  he 
began.  e  *,  •'  • 

"Yes;  that,  too.  But  —  there  is  something  else.  I 
thought  it  had  made  me  ill  —  but  -  "She  began  to 
shiver,  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  hers  and  found  it  burn 

ing.  >.;>j> 

"I  tell  you  Allen  ought  to  come  at  once  -  "  he  be 
gan  again. 

"No,  no,  no!  You  don't  know  what  you're  talking 
about.  I  —  I'm  frightened  —  that's  what  is  the  matter! 
That's  one  of  the  things  that's  the  matter.  Wait  a 
moment.  I'll  tell  you.  I'll  have  to  tell  you,  now.  I 
suppose  you'll  —  divorce  me." 

There  was  a  silence;  then: 

"Go  on,"  he  said,  in  his  heavy,  hopeless  voice. 

She  moistened  her  lips  with  her  tongue: 

"It's  —  my  fault.  I  —  I  did  not  care  for  you  —  that  is 
how  it  —  began.  No;  it  began  before  that  —  before  I 
knew  you.  And  there  were  two  men.  You  remember 
them.  They  were  the  rage  with  our  sort  —  like  other 
fads,  for  a  while  —  such  as  marmosets,  and  —  things. 
One  of  these  things  was  the  poet,  Orrin  Hunger.  He 
called  himself  a  Cubist  —  whatever  that  may  be.  The 
other  was  the  writer,  Adalbert  Waudle." 

Clydesdale's  grin  was  terrible.. 

"No,"  she  said  wearily,  "I  was  only  a  more  venture 
some  fool  than  other  women  who  petted  them  —  noth 
ing  worse.  They  went  about  kissing  women's  hands 
and  reading  verses  to  them.  Some  women  let  them 
have  the  run  of  their  boudoirs  —  like  any  poodle.  Then 
there  came  that  literary  and  semi-bohemian  bal-masque 

447 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

in  Philadelphia.  It  was  the  day  before  the  Assembly. 
I  was  going  on  for  that,  but  mother  wouldn't  let  me 
go  on  a  day  earlier  for  the  bal-masque.  So — I  went." 

"What!"      , 

"I  lied.  I  pretended  to  be  stopping  with  the  Ham- 
mertons  in  Westchester.  And  I  bribed  my  maid  to 
lie,  too.  But  I  went." 

"Alone?" 

"No.     Waudle  went  with  me." 

"Good  God,  Elena !" 

"I  know.  I  was  simply  insane.  I  went  with  him 
to  that  ball  and  left  before  the  unmasking.  Nobody 
knew  me.  So  I  went  to  the  Bellevue-Stratford  for  the 
night.  I — I  never  dreamed  that  he  would  go  there, 
too." 

"Did  he?" 

"Yes.  He  had  the  rooms  adjoining.  I  only  knew  it 
when — when  I  awoke  in  the  dark  and  heard  him  tap 
ping  on  the  door  and  calling  in  that  thick,  soft 

voice "      She   shuddered   and    clenched   her   hands, 

closing  her  feverish  eyes  for  a  moment. 

Her  husband  stared  at  her,  motionless  in  his  chair. 

She  unclosed  her  eyes  wearily:  "That  was  all — ex 
cept — the  other  one — the  little  one  with  the  frizzy 
hair — Hunger.  He  saw  me  there.  He  knew  that  Wau 
dle  had  the  adjoining  rooms.  So  then,  very  early,  I 
came  back  to  New  York,  badly  scared,  and  met  my 
maid  at  the  station  and  pretended  to  mother  that  I 
had  just  arrived  from  Westchester.*  And  that  night 
I  went  back  to  the  Assembly.  But — ever  since  that 
night  I — I  have  been — paying  money  to  Adalbert  Wau 
dle.  Not  much  before  I  married  you,  because  I  had 
very  little  to  pay.  But  all  my  allowance  has  gone  that 

448 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

way — and  now — now  he  wants  more.     And  I  haven't  it. 
And  I'm  sick " 

The  terrible  expression  on  her  husband's  face  fright 
ened  her,  and,  for  a  moment,  she  faltered.  But  there 
was  more  to  tell,  and  she  must  tell  it  though  his  un 
chained  wrath  destroy  her. 

"You'll  have  to  wait  until  I  finish,"  she  muttered. 
"There's  more — and  worse.  Because  he  came  here  the 
night  I — went  to  Silverwood.  He  saw  me  leave  the 
house;  he  unsealed  and  read  the  note  I  left  on  the 
library  table  for  you.  He  knows  what  I  said — about 
Jim  Desboro.  He  knows  I  went  to  him.  And  he  is 
trying  to  make  me  pay  him — to  keep  it  out  of  the — 
the  Tattler." 

Clydesdale's  congested  face  was  awful;  she  looked 
into  it,  thought  that  she  read  her  doom.  But  the  cour 
age  of  despair  forced  her  on. 

"There  is  worse — far  worse,"  she  said  with  dry  lips. 
"I  had  no  money  to  give;  he  wished  to  keep  the  seven 
thousand  which  was  his  share  of  what  you  paid  for 
the  forged  porcelains.  He  came  to  me  and  made  me 
understand  that  if  you  insisted  on  his  returning  that 
money  he  would  write  me  up  for  the  Tattler  and  dis 
grace  me  so  that  you  would  divorce  me.  I — I  must  be 
honest  with  you  at  such  a  time  as  this,  Gary.  I  wouldn't 
have  cared  if — if  Jim  Desboro  would  have  married  me 
afterward.  But  he  had  ceased  to  care  for  me.  He — 
was  in  love  with — Miss  Nevers;  or  she  was  with  him. 
And  I  disliked  her.  But — I  was  low  enough  to  go  to 
her  in  my  dire  extremity  and — and  ask  her  to  pro 
nounce  those  forged  porcelains  genuine — so  that  you 
would  keep  them.  And  I  did  it — meaning  to  bribe  her." 

Clydesdale's  expression  was  frightful. 
449 


THE  BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Yes — I  did  this  thing.  And  worse.  I — I  wish  you'd 
kill  me  after  I  tell  you !  I — something  she  said — in  the 
midst  of  my  anguish  and  terror — something  about  Jim 
Desboro,  I  think — I  am  not  sure — seemed  to  drive  me 
insane.  And  she  was  married  to  him  all  the  while,  and 
I  didn't  know  it.  And — to  drive  her  away  from  him, 
I — I  made  her  understand  that — that  I  was — his —  mis 
tress " 

"Good  God !" 

"Wait — for  God's  sake,  wait!  I  don't  care  what 
you  do  to  me  afterward.  Only — only  tell  that  woman  I 
wasn't — tell  her  I  never  was.  Promise  me  that,  what 
ever  you  are  going  to  do  to  me — promise  me  you'll  tell 
her  that  I  never  was  any  man's  mistress !  Because — 
because — I  am  — ill.  And  they  say — Dr.  Allen  says  I 
— I  am  going  to — to  have  a  baby." 

The  man  reared  upright  and  stood  swaying  there, 
ashy  faced,  his  visage  distorted.  Suddenly  the  features 
were  flooded  with  rushing  crimson ;  he  dropped  on  his 
knees  and  caught  her  in  his  arms  with  a  groan ;  and 
she  shut  her  eyes,  thinking  the  world  was  ending. 

After  a  long  while  she  opened  them,  still  half  stunned 
with  terror ;  saw  his  quivering  lips  resting  on  her 
tightly  locked  hands ;  stared  for  a  while,  striving  to 
comprehend  his  wet  face  and  his  caress. 

And,  after  a  while,  timidly,  uncertainly,  wondering, 
she  ventured  to  withdraw  one  hand,  still  watching  him 
with  fascinated  eyes. 

She  had  always  feared  him  physically — feared  his 
bulk,  and  his  massive  strength,  and  his  grin.  Other 
wise,  she  had  held  him  in  intellectual  contempt. 

Very  cautiously,  very  gently,  she  withdrew  her  hand, 
watching  him  all  the  while.  He  had  not  annihilated 

450 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

her.  What  did  he  mean  to  do  with  this  woman  who  had 
hated  him  and  who  now  was  about  to  disgrace  him? 
What  did  he  mean  to  do?  What  was  he  doing  now — 
with  his  lips  quivering  against  her  other  hand,  all  wet 
with  his  tears? 

"Gary?"  she  said. 

He  lifted  a  passion-marred  visage ;  and  there  seemed 
for  a  moment  something  noble  in  the  high  poise  of  his 
ugly  head.  And,  without  knowing  what  she  was  do 
ing,  or  why,  she  slowly  lifted  her  free  hand  and  let 
it  rest  lightly  on  his  massive  shoulder.  And,  as  she 
looked  into  his  eyes,  a  strange  expression  began  to  dawn 
in  her  own — and  it  became  stranger  and  stranger — 
something  he  had  never  before  seen  there — something 
so  bewildering,  so  wonderful,  that  his  heart  seemed  to 
cease. 

Suddenly  her  eyes  filled  and  her  face  flushed  from 
throat  to  hair  and  the  next  instant  she  swayed  forward, 
was  caught,  and  crushed  to  his  breast. 

"Oh!"  she  wept  ceaselessly.  "Oh,  oh,  Caryl  I 
didn't  know — I  didn't  know.  I — I  want  to  be  a — a 
good  mother.  I'll  try  to  be  better;  I'll  try  to  be  bet 
ter.  You  are  so  good — you  are  so  good  to  me — so 
kind — so  kind — to  protect  me — after  what  I've  done — 
after  what  I've  done!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DESBORO  passed  a  miserable  afternoon  at  the 
office.  If  there  had  been  any  business  to  take 
his  mind  off  himself  it  might  have  been  easier 
for  him ;  but  for  a  long  time  now  there  had  been  noth 
ing  stirring  in  Wall  Street;  the  public  kept  away; 
business  was  dead. 

After  hours  he  went  to  the  club,  feeling  physically 
wretched.  Man  after  man  came  up  and  congratulated 
him  on  his  marriage — some  whom  he  knew  scarcely 
more  intimately  than  to  bow  to,  spoke  to  him.  He  was 
a  very  great  favourite. 

In  the  beginning,  it  was  merely  a  stimulant  that  he 
thought  he  needed ;  later  he  declined  no  suggestion,  and 
even  made  a  few,  with  an  eye  on  the  clock.  For  at 
five  he  was  to  meet  Jacqueline. 

Toward  five  his  demeanour  had  altered  to  that  gravely 
urbane  and  too  courteous  manner  indicative  of  excess; 
and  his  flushed  face  had  become  white  and  tense. 

Cairns  found  him  in  the  card  room  at  six,  saw  at  a 
glance  how  matters  stood  with  him,  and  drew  him  into 
a  corner  of  the  window  with  scant  ceremony. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  said  sharply. 
"You  told  me  that  you  were  to  meet  your  wife  at 
five!" 

Desboro's  manner  became  impressively  courteous. 

"Inadvertently,"  he  said,  "I  have  somehow  or  other 
452 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

mislaid   the   clock.      Once   it    stood    somewhere   in   this 
vicinity,  but " 

"Damn  it !     There  it  is !    Look  at  it !" 

Desboro  looked  gravely  in  the  direction  where  Cairns 
was  pointing. 

"That  undoubtedly  is  a  clock,"  he  said.  "But  now 
a  far  more  serious  problem  confronts  us,  John.  Having 
located  a  clock  with  a  certain  amount  of  accuracy,, 
what  is  the  next  step  to  take  in  finding  out  the  exact 
time?" 

"Don't  you  know  how  to  tell  the  time?"  demanded 
Cairns,  furious. 

"Pardon.  I  know  how  to  tell  it,  provided  I  once 
know  what  it  is " 

"Are  you  drunk?" 

"I  have  never,"  said  Desboro,  courteously,  "experi 
enced  intoxication.  At  present  I  am  perfectly  cognis 
ant  of  contemporary  events  now  passing  in  my  imme 
diate  vicinity " 

"Where  were  you  to  meet  your  wife?" 

"At  the  depository  of  her  multitudinous  and  intricate 
affairs  of  business — in  other  words,  at  her  office,  dear 
friend." 

"You  can't  go  to  her  this  way." 

"It  were  unwise,  perhaps,"  said  Desboro,  pleasantly. 

Cairns  gripped  his  arm :  "You  go  to  the  baths ;  do 
you  hear?  Tell  Louis  to  massage  the  edge  off  you.  I'm 
going  to  speak  to  your  wife." 

So  Desboro  sauntered  off  toward  the  elevator  and 
Cairns  called  up  Jacqueline's  office. 

It  appeared  that  Jacqueline  had  left.  Should  they 
switch  him  on  to  her  private  apartments  above? 

In  a  moment  his  call  was  answered. 
453 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

"Is  this  Mrs.  Desboro?"  he  asked.  And  at  the  same 
instant  recognised  Cynthia  Lessler's  voice. 

She  returned  his  greeting  briefly. 

"Jacqueline  thought  that  perhaps  she  had  misunder 
stood  Mr.  Desboro,  so  she  has  gone  to  the  station.  Did 
he  go  there?" 

"N — no.    He  had  an  appointment  and " 

"Where?" 

"At  the  club — the  Olympian  Club " 

"Is  he  there?" 

"Yes " 

"Then  tell  him  to  go  at  once  to  the  station,  or  he 
will  miss  his  wife  and  the  6 :15  train,  too !" 

"I — he — Jim  isn't  feeling  very  well ' 

"Is  he  ill!" 

"N — no.  Oh,  no!  He's  merely  tired — over-, 
worked " 

"What !" 

"Oh,  he's  just  taking  a  cold  plunge  and  a  rub- 
down " 

"Mr.  Cairns!" 

"Yes." 

"Take  a  taxi  and  come  here  before  Jacqueline  re 
turns." 

"Did  you  wish " 

"Yes.     How  soon  can  you  get  here?" 

"Five  minutes." 

"I'll  wait." 

"A  rotten  piece  of  business,"  muttered  Cairns,  tak 
ing  hat  and  stick  from  the  cloak  room. 

The  starter  had  a  taxi  ready.  Except  for  the  usual 
block  on  Fifth  Avenue,  they  would  have  made  it  in  four 
minutes.  It  took  them  ten. 

454 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Cynthia  met  him  on  the  landing  and  silently  ushered 
him  into  Jacqueline's  pretty  little  parlour.  She  still 
wore  her  hat  and  coat ;  a  fur  boa  lay  on  a  sofa. 

"Now,"  she  said,  leaning  forward  in  her  chair  as  soon 
as  he  was  seated,  "what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?" 

"Of  what?"  he  asked,  pretending  mild  surprise. 

"Of  Mr.  Desboro's  behaviour !  He  was  married  yes 
terday  to  the  dearest,  sweetest,  loveliest  girl  in  the 
world.  To-day,  I  stop  at  her  office  to  see  her — and 
I  find  that  she  is  unhappy.  She  couldn't  hide  it  from 
me!  I  love  her !  And  all  her  smiles  and  forced  gaiety 
and  clever  maneuvering  were  terrible  to  me — heart 
breaking.  She  is  dreadfully  unhappy.  Why?" 

"I  didn't  know  it,"  said  Cairns  honestly. 

"Is  that  true?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Very  well.  But  you  know  why  he  didn't  meet  Jac 
queline  at  five,  don't  you?" 

He  looked  at  her  miserably:  "Yes,  I  know.  I 
wouldn't  let  him." 

"Is  he  intoxicated?" 

"No.     He  has  had  more  than  he  should  have." 

"What  a  cur !"  she  said  between  her  teeth. 

Cairns  bit  his  lip  and  nervously  twirled  his  walking 
stick. 

"See  here,  Cynthia,  Jim  isn't  a  cur,  you  know." 

"What  do  you  call  a  man  who  has  done  what  he's 
done?" 

"I — I  tell  you  it  has  me  guessing.  Because  it  isn't 
like  Jim  Desboro.  He's  never  that  way — not  once  in 
years.  Only  when  he's  up  against  it  does  he  ever  do 
that.  And  he's  perfectly  mad  about  his  wife.  Don't 
make  any  mistake  there ;  he's  dead  in  love  with  her — 

457 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

crazy  about  her.  But — he  came  into  the  office  about 
one  to-day,  looking  like  the  deuce — so  changed,  so 
white,  so  'all  in,'  that  I  thought  he  had  the  grippe  or 
something." 

Cynthia  said:  "They've  had  a  quarrel.  Oh,  what  is 
it — what  could  it  be,  Jack?  You  know  it  will  break  her 
heart.  It's  breaking  mine  now.  I  can't  bear  it — I 
simply  can't " 

"Haven't  the  least  idea  what's  wrong,"  said  Cairns, 
leaning  forward,  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  beating  the 
hearth  with  his  walking  stick. 

"Can't  Mr.  Desboro  come  here  pretty  soon?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  think  so.  I'll  go  back  and  look  him 
over " 

Cynthia's  eyes  suddenly  glistened  with  tears,  and  she 
bowed  her  head. 

"My  dear  child,"  expostulated  Cairns,  'it's  nothing 
to  weep  over.  It's  a — cne  of  those  things  likely  to 
happen  to  any  man " 

"But  I  can't  bear  to  have  it  happen  to  Jacqueline's 
husband.  Oh,  I  wish  she  had  never  seen  him,  never 
heard  of  him !  He  is  a  thousand,  thousand  miles  be 
neath  her.  He  isn't  worth " 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Cynthia,  don't  think  that !" 

"Think  it!  I  know  it!  Of  what  value  is  that  sort 
of  man  compared  to  a  girl  like  Jacqueline!  Of  what 
use  is  that  sort  of  man  anyway!  I  know  them,"  she 
said  bitterly,  "I've  had  my  lesson  in  that  school.  One 
and  all,  young  and  old,  rich  or  poor — comparatively 
poor — they  are  the  same.  The  same  ideas  haunt  their 
idle  and  selfish  minds,  the  same  motives  move  them,  the 
same  impulses  rule  them,  and  they  reason  with  their 
emotions,  not  with  their  brains.  Arrogant,  insolent, 

458 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

condescending,  self-centred,  self-indulgent,  and  utterly 
predatory !  That  is  the  type !  And  they  belong  where 
people  prey  upon  one  another,  not  among  the  clean  and 
sweet  and  innocent.  They  belong  where  there  is  no 
question  of  marriage  or  of  home  or  of  duty;  they  be 
long  where  lights  are  many  and  brilliant,  where  there 
is  money,  and  plenty  of  it!  Where  there  is  noise, 
and  too  much  of  it !  That  is  where  that  sort  of  man 
belongs.  And  nobody  knows  it  as  well  as  such  a  girl 
as  I!  Nobody,  nobody!"  Her  lip  quivered  and  she 
choked  back  the  tears. 

"And — and  now — such  a  man  has  taken  my  little 
friend — my  little  girl — Jacqueline " 

"Do  you  think  he's  as  rotten  as  what  you  say?" 

"Yes.     Yes!" 

"Then — what  must  you  think  of  me?" 

She  glanced  up,  blotting  her  wet  lashes  with  her 
handkerchief. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Jack?" 

"I  suppose  I'm  included  among  the  sort  of  men  you 
have  been  so  graphically  describing?" 

She  did  not  answer. 

"Am  I  not  included?" 

She  shook  her  head  slightly. 

"Why  not?  If  your  description  fits  Jim  Desboro 
and  Reggie  Ledyard,  and  that  set,  it  must  naturally 
fit  me,  also." 

But  she  shook  her  head  almost  imperceptibly. 

"Why  do  you  exclude  me,  Cynthia?" 

But  she  had  nothing  to  say  about  him.  Long  ago — 
long,  long  since,  she  had  made  excuses  for  all  that  he 
should  have  been  and  was  not.  It  was  not  a  matter 
for  discussion;  she  and  her  heart  had  settled  it  be- 

459 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

tween  them  without  calling  in  Logic  as  umpire,  and 
without  recourse  to  Reason  for  an  opinion. 

"The  worst  of  it  is,"  he  said,  rising  and  picking  up 
his  hat,  "some  of  your  general  description  does  fit 
me." 

"I — did  not  mean  it  that  way " 

"But  it  does  fit,  Cynthia;  doesn't  it?" 

"No." 

"What !"   incredulously. 

She  said  in  a  low  voice:  "You  were  very  kind  to 
me,  Jack;  and — not  like  other  men.  Do  you  think  I 
can  ever  forget  that?" 

He  forced  a  laugh :  "Great  actresses  are  expected  to 
forget  things.  Besides,  there  isn't  anything  to  re 
member — except  that — we  were  friends." 

"Real  friends.  I  know  it  now.  Because  the  world 
is  full  of  the  other  kind.  But  a  real  friend  does  not 
— destroy.  Good-bye." 

"Shall  I  see  you  again?". he  asked,  troubled. 

"If  you  wish.     I  gave  you  my  address  yesterday." 

"Will  you  really  be  at  home  to  me,  Cynthia?" 

"Try,"  she  said,  unsmiling. 

She  went  to  the  landing  with  him. 

"Will  you  see  that  Mr.  Desboro  comes  here  as  soon 
as  he  is— fit?" 

"Yes." 

"Very  well.  I'll  tell  Jacqueline  he  was  not  feeling 
well  and  fell  asleep  at  the  club.  It's  one  of  those  lies 
that  may  be  forgiven — "  she  shrugged  " — but  anyway 
I'll  risk  it." 

So  he  went  away,  and  she  watched  his  departure, 
standing  by  the  old-time  stair-well  until  she  heard  the 
lower  door  clang.  Then,  grieved  and  angry,  she  seated 

460 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

herself*  and   nervously   awaited   Jacqueline's    reappear 
ance. 

The  girl  returned  ten  minutes  later,  pale  and  plainly 
worried,  but  carrying  it  off  lightly  enough. 

"Cynthia!"  she  exclaimed,  smilingly.  "Where  do  you 
suppose  that  husband  of  mine  can  be !  He  isn't  at  the 
station.  I  boarded  the  train,  but  he  was  not  on  it! 
Isn't  it  odd?  I — I  don't  suppose  anything  could  have 
happened  to  him — any  accident — because  the  motor 
drivers  are  so  reckless " 

"You  darling  thing!"  laughed  Cynthia.  "Your 
young  man  is  perfectly  safe " 

"Oh,   of   course  I — I  believe  so " 

"He  is!     He's  at  his  club." 

"What !" 

"It's  perfectly  simple,"  said  Cynthia  coolly,  "he 
went  there  from  his  office,  feeling  a  bit  under  the 
weather " 

"Is  he  ill?" 

"No,  no!  He  was  merely  tired,  I  believe.  And  he 
stretched  out  and  fell  asleep  and  failed  to  wake  up. 
That's  all." 

Jacqueline  looked  at  her  in  relieved  astonishment  for 
a  moment. 

"Did  he  telephone?" 

"Yes — or  rather,  Mr.  Cairns  did " 

"Mr.  Cairns!  Why  did  Mr.  Cairns  telephone? 
Why  didn't  my  husband  telephone?  Cynthia — look  at 
me!" 

Cynthia  met  her  eye  undaunted. 

"Why,"  repeated  Jacqueline,  "didn't  my  husband 
telephone  to  me?  Is  he  too  ill?  Is  that  it?  Are  you 
concealing  it?  Are  you,  Cynthia?" 

4G1 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

Cynthia  smiled:  "He's  a  casual  young  man,  darling. 
I  believe  he's  taking  a  cold  plunge  or  something.  He'll 
probably  be  here  in  a  few  minutes.  So  I'll  say  good 
night."  She  picked  up  her  fur  neckpiece,  glanced  at 
the  mirror,  fluffed  a  curl  or  two,  and  turned  to  Jacque 
line.  "Don't  spoil  him,  ducky,"  she  whispered,  put 
ting  her  hands  on  the  young  wife's  shoulders  and  look 
ing  her  deep  in  the  eyes. 

Jacqueline  flushed  painfully. 

"How  do  you  mean,  Cynthia?" 

The  latter  said:  "There  are  a  million  ways  of  spoil 
ing  a  man  beside  giving  up  to  him." 

"I  don't  give  up  to  him,"  said  Jacqueline  in  a  colour 
less  voice. 

Cynthia  looked  at  her  gravely: 

"It's  hard  to  know  what  to  do,  dear.  When  a  girl 
gives  up  to  a  man  she  spoils  him  sometimes ;  when  she 
doesn't  she  sometimes  spoils  him.  It's  hard  to  know 
what  to  do — very  hard." 

Jacqueline's  gaze  grew  troubled  and  remote. 

"How  to  love  a  man  wisely — that's  a  very  hard 
thing  for  a  girl  to  learn,"  murmured  Cynthia.  "But 
— the  main  thing — the  important  thing,  is  to  love  him, 
I  think.  And  I  suppose  we  have  to  take  our  chances 
of  spoiling  him." 

"The  main  thing,"  said  Jacqueline  slowly,  "is  that 
he  should  know  you  do  love  him;  isn't  it?" 

"Yes.  But  the  problem  is,  how  best  to  show  it.  And 
that  requires  wisdom,  dear.  And  where  is  a  girl  to 
acquire  that  kind  of  wisdom?  What  experience  has 
she?  What  does  she  know?  Ah,  we  don't  know.  There 
lies  the  trouble.  By  instinct,  disposition,  natural  reti 
cence,  and  training,  we  are  disposed  to  offer  too  little, 

462 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

perhaps.     But   often,  in  fear  that   our  reticence  may 
not  be  understood,  we  offer  too  much." 

"I— am  afraid  of  that." 

"Of  offering  too  much?" 

"Yes." 

They  stood,  thoughtful  a  moment,  not  looking  at 
each  other. 

Cynthia  said  in  a  low  voice :  "Be  careful  of  him, 
ducky.  His  is  not  the  stronger  character.  Perhaps  he 
needs  more  than  you  give." 

"What !" 

"I — I  think  that  perhaps  he  is  not  the  kind  of  man 
to  be  spoiled  by  giving.  And — it  is  possible  to  starve 
some  men  by  the  well-meant  kindness  of  reserve." 

"All  women — modest  women — are  reserved." 

"Is  a  mother's  reserve  praiseworthy  when  her  child 
comes  to  her  for  intimate  companionship — for  tender 
ness  perhaps — and  puts  its  little  arms  around  her 
neck?" 

Jacqueline   stared,  then  blushed   furiously. 

"Why  do  you  suppose  that  I  am  likely  to  be  lacking 
in  sympathy,  Cynthia?" 

"You  are  not.  I  know  you  too  well,  ducky.  But  you 
might  easily  be  exquisitely  undemonstrative." 

"All  women — are — undemonstrative." 

"Not  always." 

"An  honest,  chaste " 

"No." 

Jacqueline,  deeply  flushed,  began  in  a  low  voice: 

"To  discourage  the  lesser  emotions " 

"No!  To  separate  them,  class  them  as  lesser,  makes 
them  so.  They  are  merely  atoms  in  the  molecule — a 
tiny  fragment  of  perfection.  To  be  too  conscious  of 

463 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

them  makes  them  too  important;  to  accept  them  with 
the  rest  as  part  of  the  ensemble  is  the  only  way." 

"Cynthia !" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Who  has  been  educating  you  to  talk  this  way?" 

"Necessity.  There  is  no  real  room  for  ignorance  in 
my  profession.  So  I  don't  go  to  parties  any  more; 
I  try  to  educate  myself.  There  are  cultivated  people 
in  the  company.  They  have  been  very  kind  to  me. 
And  my  carelessness  in  English — my  lack  of  polish — 
these  were  not  inherited.  My  father  was  an  educated 
man,  if  he  was  nothing  else.  You  know  that.  Your 
father  knew  it.  All  I  needed  was  to  be  awakened.  And 
I  am  awake." 

She  looked  honestly  into  the  honest  eyes  that  met 
hers,  and  shook  her  head. 

"No  self-deception  can  aid  us  to  lie  down  to  pleasant 
dreams,  Jacqueline.  And  the  most  terrible  of  all  de 
ceptions  is  self-righteousness.  Let  me  know  myself,  and 
I  can  help  myself.  And  I  know  now  how  it  would  be 
with  me  if  the  happiness  of  marriage  ever  came  to  me. 
I  would  give — give  everything  good  in  me,  everything 
needed — strip  myself  of  my  best!  Because,  dear,  we 
always  have  more  to  give  than  they;  and  they  need  it 
all — all  we  can  give  them — every  one." 

After  a  silence  they  kissed  each  other;  and,  when 
Cynthia  had  departed,  Jacqueline  closed  the  door  and 
returned  to  her  chair.  Seated  there  in  deep  and  un 
happy  thought,  while  the  slow  minutes  passed  with 
out  him,  little  by  little  her  uneasiness  returned. 

Eight  o'clock  rang  from  her  little  mantel  clock.  She 
started  up  and  went  to  the  window.  The  street  lamps 
were  shining  over  pavements  and  sidewalks  deserted. 

4G4 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Very  far  in  the  west  she  could  catch  the  low  roar  uf 
Broadway,  endless,  accentless,  monotonous,  interrupted 
only  by  the  whiz  of  motors  on  Fifth  Avenue.  Now  and 
then  a  wayfarer  passed  through  the  silent  street  below ; 
rarely  a  taxicab;  but  neither  wayfarer  nor  vehicle 
stopped  at  her  door. 

She  did  not  realise  how  long  she  had  been  standing 
there,  when  from  behind  the  mantel  clock  startled 
her  again,  ringing  out  nine.  She  came  back  into 
the  centre  of  the  room,  and,  hands  clasped,  stared  at 
the  dial. 

She  had  not  eaten  since  morning ;  there  had  been  no 
opportunity  in  the  press  of  accumulated  business.  She 
felt  a  trifle  faint,  mostly  from  a  vague  anxiety.  She 
did  not  wish  to  call  up  the  club ;  instinct  forbade  it ;  but 
at  a  quarter  to  ten  she  went  to  the  telephone,  and  learned 
that  Desboro  had  gone  out  between  eight  and  nine. 
Then  she  asked  for  Cairns,  and  found  that  he  also 
had  gone  away. 

Sick  at  heart  she  hung  up  the  receiver,  turned  aim 
lessly  into  the  room  again,  and  stood  there,  staring  at 
the  clock. 

What  had  happened  to  her  husband?  What  did  it 
mean?  Had  she  anything  to  do  with  his  strange  con 
duct?  In  her  deep  trouble  and  perplexity — still  be 
wildered  by  the  terrible  hurt  she  had  received — had  her 
aloofness,  her  sadness,  impossible  to  disguise,  wounded 
him  so  deeply  that  he  had  already  turned  away  from 
he;-? 

She  had  meant  only  kindness  to  him — was  seeking 
only  her  own  convalescence,  desperately  determined  to 
love  and  to  hold  this  man.  Hadn't  he  understood  it? 
Could  he  not  give  her  time  to  recover?  How  could  he 

4G5 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

expect  more  of  her — a  bride,  confronted  in  the  very 
first  hours  of  her  wedded  life  by  her  husband's  self- 
avowed  mistress ! 

She  stood,  hesitating,  clenching  and  unclenching  her 
white  and  slender  hands,  striving  to  think,  succeeding 
only  in  enduring,  until  endurance  itself  was  rapidly  be 
coming  impossible. 

Why  was  he  hurting  her  so?  Why?  Why?  Yet, 
never  once  was  her  anger  aroused  against  this  man. 
Somehow,  he  was  not  responsible.  He  was  a  man  as 
God  made  him — one  in  the  endless  universe  of  men — 
the  only  one  in  that  limitless  host  existing  for  her. 
He  was  hers — the  best  of  him  and  the  worst.  And  the 
worst  was  to  be  forgiven  and  protected,  and  the  best 
was  to  thank  God  for. 

She  knew  fear — the  anxious  solicitude  that  mothers 
know,  awaiting  the  return  of  an  errant  child.  She  knew 
pain — the  hurt  dismay  of  a  soul,  deep  wounded  by  its 
fellow,  feeling  a  fresher  and  newer  wound  with  every 
dragging  second. 

Her  servant  came,  asking  in  an  awed  whisper  whether 
her  mistress  would  not  eat  something. 

Jacqueline's  proud  little  head  went  up. 

"Mr.  Desboro  has  been  detained  unexpectedly.  I 
will  ring  for  you  when  he  comes." 

But  at  midnight  she  rang,  saying  that  she  required 
nothing  further,  and  that  the  maid  could  retire  after 
unhooking  her  gown. 

Now,  in  her  loosened  chamber-robe,  she  sat  before 
the  dresser  combing  out  the  thick,  lustrous  hair  clus 
tering  in  masses  of  gold  around  her  white  face  and 
shoulders. 

She  scarcely  knew  what  she  was  about — knew  not 
466 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

at  all  what  she  was  going  to  do  with  the  rest  of  the 
night. 

Her  hair  done,  she  lay  back  limply  in  her  chintz  arm 
chair,  haunted  eyes  fixed  on  the  clock ;  and,  after  star 
ing  became  unendurable,  she  picked  up  a  book  and 
opened  it  mechanically.  It  was  Grenville,  on  Spanish 
Armour.  Suddenly  she  remembered  sitting  here  be 
fore  with  this  same  volume  on  her  knees,  the  rain  beat 
ing  against  the  windows,  a  bright  fire  in  the  grate — 
and  Fate  at  her  elbow,  bending  in  the  firelight  beside 
her  as  one  by  one  she  turned  the  illuminated  pages,  only 
to  encounter  under  every  jeweled  helmet  Desboro's  smil 
ing  eyes.  And,  as  her  fingers  crisped  on  the  pages  at 
the  memory,  it  seemed  to  her  at  one  moment  that  it  had 
all  taken  place  many,  many  years  ago ;  and,  in  the  next 
moment,  that  it  had  happened  only  yesterday. 

How  young  she  had  been  then — never  having  known 
sorrow  except  when  her  father  died.  And  that  sorrow 
was  different;  there  was  nothing  in  it  hopeless  or  terri 
fying,  believing,  as  she  believed,  in  the  soul's  survival; 
nothing  to  pain,  wound,  menace  her,  or  to  awake  in 
depths  unsounded  a  hell  of  dreadful  apprehension. 

How  young  she  had  been  when  last  she  sat  here  with 
this  well-worn  volume  on  her  knees! 

Nothing  of  love  had  she  ever  known,  only  the  affec 
tion  of  a  child  for  her  father.  But — now  she  knew. 
The  torture  of  every  throbbing  minute  was  enlightening 
her. 

Her  hands,  tightly  clasped  together,  rested  on  the 
pages  of  the  open  book ;  and  she  was  staring  at  nothing 
when,  without  warning,  the  doorbell  rang. 

She  rose  straight  up  and  pressed  her  left  hand  to  her 
side,  pale  lips  parted,  listening;  then  she  sprang  to  the 

467 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

door,  opened  it,  pulled  the  handle  controlling  the  wire 
which  lifted  the  street-door  latch.  Far  below  in  the 
darkness  she  heard  the  click,  click,  click  of  the  latch, 
the  opening  and  closing  of  the  door,  steps  across  the 
hall  on  the  stairs,  mounting  nearer  and  nearer.  And 
when  she  knew  that  it  was  he  she  left  the  door  open 
and  returned  to  her  armchair  and  lay  back  almost  stifled 
by  the  beating  of  her  heart.  But  when  the  shaft  of 
light  across  the  corridor  fell  on  him  and  he  stood  on 
her  threshold,  her  heart  almost  stopped  beating.  His 
face  was  drawn  and  pinched  and  colourless ;  his  eyes 
were  strange,  his  very  presence  seemed  curiously  un 
familiar — more  so  still  when  he  forced  a  smile  and 
bent  over  her,  lifting  her  limp  fingers  to  his  lips. 

"What  has  been  the  matter,  Jim?"  she  tried  to  say, 
but  her  voice  almost  broke. 

He  closed  the  door  and  stood  looking  around  him 
for  a  moment.  Then,  with  a  glance  at  her,  and  with 
just  that  shade  of  deference  toward  her  which  he  never 
lost,  he  seated  himself. 

"The  matter  is,"  he  said  quietly,  "that  I  drank  to 
excess  at  the  club  and  was  not  fit  to  keep  my  appoint 
ment  with  you." 

"What!"  she  said  faintly. 

"That  was  it,  Jacqueline.  Cairns  did  his  best  for  us 
both.  But — I  knew  it  would  be  for  the  last  time;  I 
knew  you  would  never  again  have  to  endure  such  things 
from  me." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Just  what  I  have  said,  Jacqueline.  You  won't  have 
it  to  endure  again.  But  I  had  to  have  time  to  recover 
my  senses  and  think  it  out.  That  is  why  I  didn't  come 
before.  So  I  let  Cairns  believe  I  was  coming  here." 

468 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Where  did  you  go?" 

"To  my  rooms.  I  had  to  face  it;  I  had  to  think  it 
all  over  before  I  came  here.  I  would  have  telephoned 
you,  but  you  could  not  have  understood.  What  time 
is  it?" 

"Two   o'clock." 

"I'm  sorry.     I  won't  keep  you  long " 

"What  do  you  mean?     Where  are  you  going?" 

"To  my  rooms,  I  suppose.  I  merely  came  here  to 
tell  you  what  is  the  only  thing  for  us  to  do.  You  know 
it  already.  I  have  just  realised  it." 

"I  don't  understand  what " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do,  Jacqueline.  You  now  have  no  illu 
sions  left  concerning  me.  Nor  have  I  any  left  con 
cerning  what  I  am  and  what  I  have  done.  Curious," 
he  added  very  quietly,  "that  people  had  to  tell  me  what 
I  am  and  what  I  have  done  to  you  before  I  could  under 
stand  it." 

"What  have  you — done — to  me?" 

"Married  you.  And  within  that  very  hour,  almost, 
brought  sorrow  and  shame  on  you.  Oh,  the  magic  mir 
ror  has  been  held  up  to  me  to-day,  Jacqueline;  and  in 
it  everything  I  have  done  to  you  since  the  moment  I 
first  saw  you  has  been  reflected  there  in  its  real  colours. 

"I  stepped  across  the  straight,  clean  pathway  of 
your  life,  telling  myself  the  lie  that  I  had  no  inten 
tions  of  any  sort  concerning  you.  And,  as  time  passed,, 
however  indefinite  my  motives,  they  became  at  least 
vaguely  sinister.  You  were  aware  of  this ;  I  pretended 
not  to  be.  And  at  last  you — you  saved  me  the  infamy 
of  self-revelation  by  speaking  as  you  did.  You  en 
gaged  yourself  to  marry  me.  And  I  let  you.  And, 
not  daring  to  let  you  stand  the  test  which  an  announce- 

469 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

ment  of  our  engagement  would  surely  mean,  and  fear 
ing  to  lose  you,  dreading  to  see  you  turn  against  me, 
I  was  cowardly  enough  to  marry  you  as  I  did,  and  trust 
that  love  and  devotion  would  hold  you." 

He  leaned  forward  in  his  chair  and  shook  his  head. 

"No  use,"  he  said  quietly.  "Love  and  devotion  never 
become  a  coward.  Both  mean  nothing  unless  based 
on  honesty.  And  I  was  dishonest  with  you.  I  should 
have  told  you  I  was  afraid  that  what  might  be  said  to 
you  about  me  would  alter  you  toward  me.  I  should 
have  told  you  that  I  dared  not  stand  the  test.  But  all 
I  said  to  you  was  that  it  was  better  for  us  to  marry 
as  we  did.  And  you  trusted  me." 

Her  pale,  fascinated  face  never  moved,  nor  did  her 
eyes  leave  his  for  a  second.  He  sustained  her  gaze 
gravely,  and  with  a  drawn  composure  that  seemed  akin 
to  dignity. 

"I  came  here  to  tell  you  this,"  he  said,  "to  admit  that 
I  cheated  you,  cheated  the  world  out  of  you,  robbed 
you  of  your  independence  under  false  pretenses,  mar 
ried  you  as  I  did  because  I  was  afraid  I'd  lose  you 
otherwise.  My  justification  was  that  I  loved  you — as 
though  that  could  excuse  anything.  Only  could  I  be 
excused  for  marrying  you  if  our  engagement  had  been 
openly  announced  and  you  had  found  it  in  you  to  with 
stand  and  forgive  whatever  ill  you  heard  of  me.  But 
I  did  not  give  you  that  chance.  I  married  you.  And 
within  that  very  hour  you  learned  something — what 
ever  it  was — that  changed  you  utterly  toward  me,  and 
is  threatening  to  ruin  your  happiness — to  annihilate 
within  you  the  very  joy  of  living." 

He  shook  his  head  again,   slowly. 

"That  won't  do,  Jacqueline.  Happiness  is  as  much 
470 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

your  right  as  is  life  itself.  The  world  has  a  right  to 
you,  too ;  because  you  have  lived  nobly,  and  your  work 
has  been  for  the  betterment  of  things.  Whoever  knows 
you  honours  you  and  loves  you.  It  is  such  a  woman 
as  you  who  is  of  importance  in  the  world.  Men  and 

women  are  better  for  you.  You  are  needed.  While 
j » 

He  made  a  quick  gesture;  his  lip  trembled,  but  he 
smiled. 

"So,"  he  said,  "I  have  thought  it  all  out — there  alone 
in  my  rooms  to-night.  There  will  be  no  more  trouble, 
no  anxiety  for  you.  I'll  step  out  of  your  life  very 
quietly,  Jacqueline,  without  any  stir  or  fuss  or  any 
inconvenience  to  you,  more  than  waiting  for  my  con 
tinued  absence  to  become  flagrant  and  permanent 
enough  to  satisfy  the  legal  requirements.  And  in  a 
little  while  you  will  have  your  liberty  again;  the  lib 
erty  and,  very  soon,  the  tranquillity  of  mind  and 
the  happiness  out  of  which  I  have  managed  to  swindle 
you." 

She  had  been  seated  motionless,  leaning  forward  in 
her  chair  to  listen.  After  a  few  moments  of  silence 
which  followed,  the  constraint  of  her  attitude  suddenly 
weakened  her,  and  she  slowly  sank  back  into  the  depths 
of  her  big  chair. 

"And  that,"  she  said  aloud  to  herself,  "is  what  he 
has  come  here  to  tell  me." 

"Yes,  Jacqueline." 

She  turned  her  head  toward  him,  her  cheek  resting 
flat  against  the  upholstered  chintz  back. 

"One  thing  you  have  not  told  me,  Jim." 

"What  is  that?"  he  asked  in  a  strained  voice. 

"How  I  am  to  live  without  you." 
471 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

There  was  a  silence.  When  his  self-control  seemed 
assured  once  more,  he  said: 

"Do  you  mean  that  the  damage  I  have  done  is  irrep 
arable?" 

"What  you  have  done  cannot  be  undone.  You  have 
made  me — love  you."  Her  lip  trembled  in  a  pitiful 
attempt  to  smile.  "Are  you,  after  all,  about  to  send 
me  forth  'between  tall  avenues  of  spears,  to  die?'  ' 

"Do  you  still  think  you  care  for  such  a  man  as  I 
am?"  he  said  hoarsely. 

She  nodded: 

"And  if  you  leave  me  it  will  be  the  same,  Jim.  Wher 
ever  you  are — living  alone  or  married  to  another  wo 
man — or  whether  you  are  living  at  all,  or  dead,  it  will 
always  be  the  same  with  me.  Love  is  love.  Nothing 
you  say  now  can  alter  it.  Words — yours  or  the  words 
of  others — merely  wound  me,  and  do  not  cripple  my  love 
for  you.  Nor  can  deeds  do  so.  I  know  that,  now. 
They  can  slay  only  me,  not  my  love,  Jim — for  I  think, 
with  me,  it  is  really  and  truly  immortal." 

His  head  dropped  between  his  hands.  She  saw  his 
body  trembling  at  moments.  After  a  little  while  she 
rose,  and,  stepping  to  his  side,  bent  over  him,  letting 
her  hand  rest  lightly  on  his  hair. 

"All  I  ask  of  you  is  to  be  patient,"  ghe  whispered. 
"And  you  don't  understand — you  don't  seem  to  under 
stand  me,  dear.  I  am  learning  very  fast — much  faster 
and  more  thoroughly  than  I  believed  possible.  Cynthia 
was  here  this  evening.  She  helped  me  so  much.  She 
taught  me  a  great  deal — a  very  great  deal.  And  your 
goodness — your  unselfishness  in  coming  to  me  this  way 
— with  your  boyish  amends,  your  unconsidercd  and  im 
pulsive  offers  of  restitution — restitution  of  single  bless- 

472 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

edness "   She  smiled;  and,  deep  within  her  breast, 

a  faint  thrill  stirred  her  like  a  far  premonition. 

Timidly,  scarcely  daring,  she  ventured  by  degrees  to 
encircle  his  head  with  her  arm,  letting  her  cool  fin 
gers  rest  over  the  tense  and  feverish  hands  that  covered 
his  face. 

"What  a  boy  is  this  grown  man !"  she  whispered. 
"What  a  foolish,  emotional,  impulsive  boy !  And  such 
an  unhappy  one ;  and  such  a  tired  one !" 

And,  once  more  hesitating,  and  with  infinite  precau 
tion,  lest  he  become  suddenly  too  conscious  of  this  new 
and  shy  demonstration,  she  ventured  to  seat  herself  on 
the  arm  of  his  chair  and  bend  closer  to  him. 

"You  must  go  back  to  your  rooms,  dear,"  she  mur 
mured.  "It  is  morning,  and  we  both  are  in  need  of 
sleep,  I  think.  So  you  must  say  good-night  to  me  and 
go  back  to — to  pleasant  dreams.  And  to-morrow  we 
will  go  to  Silverwood  for  over  Sunday.  Two  whole  days 
together,  dear " 

Her  soft  cheek  rested  against  his ;  her  voice  died  out. 
Slowly,  guided  by  the  most  delicate  pressure,  his  head 
moved  toward  her  shoulder,  resisted,  fell  forward  on 
her  breast.  For  one  instant's  ecstasy  she  drew  his  face 
against  her,  tightly,  almost  fearfully,  then  sprang  to 
her  feet,  breathless,  blushing  from  throat  to  brow,  and 
stepped  back. 

He  was  on  his  feet,  too,  flushed,  dazed,  moving  to 
ward  her. 

She  stretched  out  both  hands  swiftly. 

"Good-night,  dearest — dearest  of  men.  You  have 
made  me  happy  again.  You  are  making  me  happier 
every  moment.  Only — be  patient  with  me.  And  it  will 
all  come  true — what  we  have  dreamed." 

473 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Her  fragrant  hands  were  crushed  against  his  lips, 
and  her  heart  was  beating  faster  and  faster,  and  she 
was  saying  she  scarcely  knew  what. 

"All  will  be  well  with  us.  /  no  longer  doubt  it. 
You  must  not.  I — I  am  the  girl  you  desire.  I  will  be, 
always — always.  Only  be  gentle  and  patient  with  me — 
only  that — only  that." 

"How  can  I  take  you  this  way — and  keep  you — after 
what  I  have  done?"  he  stammered.  "How  can  I  let 
your  generosity  and  mercy  rob  you  of  what  is  your 
due " 

"Love  is  my  due,  I  think.  But  only  you  can  give  it. 
And  if  you  withhold  it,  Jim,  I  am  robbed  indeed." 

"Your  pity — your  sweetness " 

"My  pity  is  for  myself  if  you  prove  unkind." 

"I?    Unkind!    Good  God " 

"Oh!  He  is  good,  Jim!  And  He  will  be.  Never 
doubt  it  again.  And  lie  down  to  pleasant  dreams.  Will 
you  come  for  me  to-morrow  at  five?" 

"Yes." 

"And  never  again  distrust  yourself  or  me?" 

He  drew  a  deep,  unsteady  breath. 

"Good-night,"  she  whispered. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

JACQUELINE  had  been  half  an  hour  late  at  her 
office  and  the  routine  business  was  not  yet  quite 
finished  when  Captain  Herrendene  was  announced 
at  the  telephone. 

"I  thought  you  had  sailed!"  she  exclaimed  in  sur 
prise,  as  he  greeted  her  over  the  wire. 

He  laughed:  "I'm  ordered  to  Governor's  Island. 
Jolly,  isn't  it?" 

"Fine!"  she  said  cordially.  "We  shall  see  you  some 
times,  I  suppose." 

"I'm  asked  to  the  Lindley  Hammertons  for  the  week 
end.  Are  you  to  be  at  Silverwood  by  any  happy 
chance  ?" 

"Indeed  we  are.    We  are  going  up  to-night." 

"Good  business !"  he  said.  "And — may  I  wish  you 
happiness,  Mrs.  Desboro?  Your  husband  is  a  per 
fectly  bully  fellow — lots  of  quality  in  that  young  man — 
loads  of  reserve  and  driving  force!  Tell  him  I  con 
gratulate  him  with  all  my  heart.  You  know  what  I 
think  of  you!" 

"It's  very  sweet  of  you  to  speak  this  way  about  us," 
she  said.  "You  may  surmise  what  I  think  of  my  hus 
band.  So  thank  you  for  wishing  us  happiness.  And 
you  will  come  over  with  Daisy,  won't  you?  We  are  go 
ing  to  be  at  home  until  Monday." 

"Indeed  I  will  come!"  he  said  heartily. 

She  hung  up  the  receiver,  smiling  but  a  trifle  flushed ; 
475 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

and  in  her  blue  eyes  there  lingered  something  resembling 
tenderness  as  she  turned  once  more  to  the  pile  of  type 
written  letters  awaiting  her  signature.  She  had  cared 
a  great  deal  for  this  man's  devotion ;  and  since  she  had 
refused  him  she  cared  for  his  friendship  even  more  than 
before.  And,  being  feminine,  capable,  and  very  tender 
hearted,  she  already  was  experiencing  the  characteristic 
and  ominous  solicitude  of  her  sex  for  the  future  conso 
lation  and  ultimate  happiness  of  this  young  and  un 
married  man.  Might  it  not  be  accomplished  through 
Daisy  Hammerton?  What  could  be  more  suitable,  more 
perfect  ? 

Her  sensitive  lips  were  edged  with  a  faint  smile  as 
she  signed  her  name  to  the  first  business  letter.  It  began 
to  look  dark  for  Captain  Herrendene.  No  doubt,  some- 
wrhere  aloft,  the  cherubim  were  already  giggling.  When 
a  nice  girl  refuses  a  man,  his  business  with  her  has  only 
just  begun. 

She  continued  to  sign  her  letters,  the  ominous 
smile  always  hovering  on  her  upcurled  lips.  And, 
pursuing  that  train  of  thought,  she  came,  unwittingly, 
upon  another,  so  impossible,  yet  so  delightful  and  ex 
citing  that  every  feminine  fibre  in  her  responded  to  the 
invitation  to  meddle.  She  could  scarcely  wait  to  be 
gin,  so  possessed  was  she  by  the  alluringly  hopeless 
proposition  evolved  from  her  inner  consciousness ;  and, 
as  soon  as  the  last  letter  had  been  signed,  and  her  stenog 
rapher  had  taken  away  the  correspondence,  she  flew 
to  the  telephone  and  called  up  Cynthia  Lessler. 

"Is  it  you,  dear?"  she  asked  excitedly ;  and  Cynthia, 
at  the  other  end  of  the  wire,  caught  the  happy  ring 
in  her  voice,  for  she  answered: 

"You  sound  very  gay  this  morning.     Are  you,  dear?" 
476 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Yes,  darling.  Tell  me,  what  are  you  doing  over 
Sunday?" 

Cynthia  hesitated,  then  she  answered  calmly: 

"Mr.  Cairns  is  coming  in  the  morning  to  take  me 
to  the  Metropolitan  Museum." 

"What  a  funny  idea!" 

"Why  is  it  funny?  He  suggested  that  we  go  and 
look  at  the  Chinese  porcelains  so  that  we  could  listen 
more  intelligently  to  you." 

"As  though  I  were  accustomed  to  lecture  my  friends ! 
How  absurd,  Cynthia.  You  can't  go.  I  want  you  at 
Silverwood." 

"Thank  you,  dear,  but  I've  promised  him " 

"Then  come  up  on  the  noon  train !" 

"In  the  afternoon,"  explained  Cynthia,  still  more 
calmly,  "Mr.  Cairns  and  I  are  to  read  together  a  new 
play  which  has  not  yet  been  put  in  rehearsal." 

"But,  darling !  I  do  want  you  for  Sunday !  Why 
can't  you  come  up  for  this  week-end,  and  postpone  the 
Museum  meanderings?  Please  ask  him  to  let  you  off." 

There  was  a  pause,  then  Cynthia  said  in  a  still,  small 
voice : 

"Mr.  Cairns  is  here.     You  may  ask  him." 

Cairns  came  to  the  telephone  and  said  that  he 
would  consult  the  wishes  and  the  convenience  of  Miss 
Lessler. 

There  ensued  another  pause,  ostensibly  for  consulta 
tion,  during  which  Jacqueline  experienced  a  wicked  and 
almost  overwhelming  desire  to  laugh. 

Presently   Cynthia   called  her: 

"We  think,"  she  said  with  pretty  emphasis,  "that 
it  would  be  very  jolly  to  visit  you.  We  can  go  to  the 
museum  any  other  Sunday,  Mr.  Cairns  says." 

477 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

But  the  spirit  of  mischief  still  possessed  Jacqueline, 
and  she  refused  to  respond  to  the  hint. 

"So  you  are  coming?"  she  exclaimed  with  enthusiasm. 

"If  you  want  us,  darling." 

"That's  delightful!  You  know  Jim  and  I  haven't 
had  a  chance  yet  to  entertain  our  bridesmaid.  We  want 
her  to  be  our  very  first  guest.  Thank  you  so  much, 
darling,  for  coming.  And  please  say  to  Mr.  Cairns 
that  it  is  perfectly  dear  of  him  to  let  you  off " 

"But  he  is  coming,  too,  isn't  he?"  exclaimed  Cyn 
thia  anxiously.  "You  are  asking  us  both,  aren't  you. 
What  are  you  laughing  at,  you  little  wretch !" 

But  Jacqueline's  laughter  died  out  and  she  said 
hastily : 

"Bring  him  with  you,  dear,"  and  turned  to  con 
front  Mrs.  Hammerton,  who  arrived  by  appointment 
and  exactly  on  the  minute. 

The  clerk  who,  under  orders,  had  brought  the  old 
lady  directly  to  the  office,  retired,  closing  the  door  be 
hind  him.  Jacqueline  hung  up  the  telephone  receiver, 
rose  from  her  chair  and  gazed  silently  at  the  woman 
whose  letter  to  her  had  first  shattered  her  dream  of  hap 
piness.  Then,  with  a  little  gesture: 

"Won't  you  please  be  seated?"  she  said  quietly. 

Aunt  Hannah's  face  was  grim  as  she  sat  down  on 
the  chair  indicated. 

"You  have  no  further  interest  in  me,  have  you?" 
she  demanded. 

Jacqueline  did  not  answer. 

"I  ought  to  have  come  here  before,"  said  Aunt  Han 
nah.  "I  ought  to  have  come  here  immediately  and  ex 
plained  to  you  that  when  I  wrote  that  letter  I  hadn't 
the  vaguest  notion  that  you  were  already  married.  Do 

478 


BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 


you  think  I'd  have  been  such  a  fool  if  I'd  known  it, 
Jacqueline  ?" 

Jacqueline  lifted  her  troubled  eyes :  "I  do  not  think 
you  should  have  interfered  at  all." 

"Good  heavens !  I  know  that !  I  knew  it  when  I 
did  it.  It's  the  one  hopelessly  idiotic  act  of  my  life. 
Never,  never  was  anything  gained  or  anything  altered 


'You  have  no  further  interest  in  me,  have   you?'  " 


by  interfering  where  real  love  is.  I  knew  it,  child.  It's 
an  axiom  —  a  perfectly  self-evident  proposition  —  an  ab 
solutely  hopeless  effort.  But  I  chanced  it.  Your 
mother,  if  she  were  alive,  would  have  chanced  it.  Don't 
blame  me  too  much  ;  be  a  little  sorry  for  me.  Because 
I  loved  you  when  I  did  it.  And  many,  many  of  the 
most  terrible  mistakes  in  life  are  made  because  of  love, 
Jacqueline.  The  mistakes  of  hate  are  fewer." 

479 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

Aunt  Hannah's  folded  hands  tightened  on  the  gun- 
metal  reticule  across  her  knees. 

"It's  too  late  to  say  I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  "Besides, 
I'd  do  it  again." 

"What!" 

"Yes,  I  would.  So  would  your  mother.  I  am  sorry ; 
but  I  would  do  it  again !  I  love  you  enough  to  do  it 
again — and — and  suffer  what  I  am  suffering  in  conse 
quence." 

Jacqueline  looked  at  her  in  angry  bewilderment,  and 
the  spark  in  the  little  black  eyes  died  out. 

"Child,"  she  said  wearily,  "we  childless  women  who 
love  are  capable  of  the  same  self-sacrifice  that  mothers 
understand.  I  wrote  you  to  save  you,  practically  cer 
tain  that  I  was  giving  you  up  by  doing  it — and  that 
with  every  word  of  warning  I  was  signing  my  own  death 
warrant  in  your  affections.  But  I  couldn't  sit  still  and 
let  you  go  to  the  altar  unwarned.  Had  I  cared  less  for 
you,  yes !  I  could  have  let  you  take  your  chances  un 
disturbed  by  me.  But — you  took  them  anyway — took 
them  before  my  warning  could  do  anything  except  an--- 
ger  you.  Otherwise,  it  would  have  hurt  and  angered 
you,  too.  I  have  no  illusions ;  what  I  said  would  have 
availed  nothing.  Only — it  was  my  duty  to  say  it.  I 
never  was  crazy  about  doing  my  duty.  But  I  did  it 
this  time." 

She  found  a  fresh  handkerchief  in  her  reticule  and 
rolled  it  nervously  into  a  wad. 

"So — that  is  all,  Jacqueline.  I've  made  a  bad  mess 
of  it.  I've  made  a  far  worse  one  than  I  supposed 
possible.  You  are  unhappy.  James  is  perfectly 
wretched.  The  boy  came  to  me  furious,  bewildered,  al 
most  exasperated,  to  find  out  what  had  been  said  about 

480 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

him  and  who  had  said  it.  And — and  I  told  him  what 
I  thought  of  him.  I  did!  And  when  he  had  gone,  I — 
cried  myself  sick — sick,  I  tell  you. 

"And  that's  why  I'm  here.  It  has  given  me  courage 
to  come  here.  I  know  I  am  discredited ;  that  what  I  say 
will  be  condemned  in  advance;  that  you  are  too  hurt, 
too  hostile  to  me  to  be  influenced.  But — I  must  say 
my  say  before  I  go  out  of  your  life — and  his — for 
ever.  And  what  I  came  to  say  to  you  is  this.  For 
give  that  boy !  Pardon  absolutely  everything  he  has 
done ;  eliminate  it ;  annihilate  the  memory  of  it  if  you 
can !  Memory  can  be  stunned,  if  not  destroyed.  I 
know ;  I've  had  to  do  it  often.  So  I  say  to  you,  begin 
again  with  him.  Give  that  boy  his  chance  to  grow  up 
to  your  stature.  In  all  the  world  I  believe  you  are  the 
only  woman  who  can  ennoble  him  and  make  of  him 
something  fine — if  not  your  peer,  at  least  its  masculine 
equivalent.  I  do  not  mean  to  be  bitter.  But  I  cannot 
help  my  opinion  of  things  masculine.  Forgive  him, 
Jacqueline.  Many  men  are  better  than  he ;  many,  many 
are  worse.  But  the  best  among  them  are  not  so  very 
much  better  than  your  boy  Jim.  Forgive  him  and  help 
him*to  grow  up.  And — that  is  all — I  think " 

She  rose  and  turned  sharply  away.  Jacqueline  rose 
and  crossed  the  room  to  open  the  door  for  her.  They 
met  there.  Aunt  Hannah's  ugly  little  face  remained 
averted  while  she  waited  for  the  open  door  to  free 
her. 

"Mr.  Desboro  and  I  are  going  to  be  happy,"  said 
Jacqueline  in  a  strained  voice. 

"It  lies  with  you,"  snapped  Aunt  Hannah. 

"Yes — a  great  deal  seems  to  lie  with  me.  The  bur 
den  of  decision  seems  to  lie  with  me  very  often.  Some- 

481 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

how  I  can't  escape  it.  And  I  am  not  wise,  not  experi 
enced  enough " 

"You  are  good.  That's  wisdom  enough  for  deci 
sion." 

"But — do  you  know — I  am  not  very  good." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  understand  much  that  is  evil.  How  can 
real  innocence  be  so  unworthily  wise?" 

"Innocence  isn't  goodness  by  a  long  shot !"  said  Aunt 
Hannah  bluntly.  "The  good  know — and  refrain." 

There  was  a  silence;  the  elder  woman  in  her  black 
.gown  stood  waiting,  her  head  still  obstinately  averted. 
Suddenly  she  felt  the  girl's  soft  arms  around  her  neck, 
quivered,  caught  her  in  a  fierce  embrace. 

"I — I  want  you  to  care  for  Jim,"  faltered  the  girl. 
""I  want  you  to  know  what  he  really  is — the  dearest  and 
most  generous  of  men.  I  want  you  to  discover  the 
real  nobility  in  him.  He  is  only  a  boy,  as  yet,  Aunt 
Hannah.  And  he — he  must  not  be — cruelly — pun 
ished." 

When  Aunt  Hannah  had  marched  out,  still  inclined 
to  dab  at  her  eyes,  but  deeply  and  thankfully  happy, 
Jacqueline  called  up  her  husband  at  his  office. 

"Jim,  dear,"  she  said,  "I  have  had  a  visit  from  Aunt 
Hannah.  And  she's  terribly  unhappy  because  she  thinks 
you  and  I  are ;  so  I  told  her  that  we  are  not  unhappy, 
and  I  scolded  her  for  saying  those  outrageous  things 
to  you.  And  she  took  it  so  meekly,  and — and  she  does 
really  care  for  us — and — and  I've  made  up  with  her. 
Was  it  disloyal  to  you  to  forgive  her?" 

"No,"  he  'said  quietly.  "What  she  said  to  me  was 
the  truth." 

"I  don't  know  what  she  said  to  you,  dear.  She  didn't 
482 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

tell  me.  But  I  gathered  from  her  that  it  was  some 
thing  intensely  disagreeable.  So  don't  ever  tell  me — 
because  I  might  begin  to  dislike  her  again.  And — it 
wasn't  true,  anyway.  She  knows  that  now.  So — we  will 
be  friendly  to  her,  won't  we?" 
.  "Of  course.  She  adores  you  anyway " 

"If  she  doesn't  adore  you,  too,  I  won't  care  for  her !" 
said  the  girl  hotly. 

He  laughed;  she  could  hear  him  distinctly;  and  she 
realised  with  a  little  thrill  that  it  was  the  same  engaging 
laugh  which  she  had  first  associated  with  the  delightful, 
graceful,  charming  young  fellow  who  was  now  her  hus 
band. 

"What  are  you  doing,  Jim?"  she  asked,  smiling  in 
sympathy. 

"There's  absolutely  nothing  doing  in  the  office,, 
dear." 

"Then — could  you  come  over  here?" 

"Oh,  Jacqueline!     Do  you  tempt  me?" 

"No,"  she  said  hastily.  "I  suppose  you  ought  to  be 
there  in  the  office,  whether  there's  anything  to  do  or  not. 
Listen,  Jim.  I've  invited  Cynthia  and  Jack  Cairns  for 
the  week  end.  Was  it  all  right?" 

"Of  course." 

"You  don't  really  mind,  do  you?" 

"Not  a  bit,  dear." 

"We  can  be  by  ourselves  if  we  wish.  They're  going 
to  read  a  play  together,"  she  explained  naively,  "and 
they  won't  bother  us " 

She  checked  herself,  blushing  furiously.  He,  at  his 
end  of  the  wire,  could  scarcely  speak  for  the  quick 
tumult  of  his  heart,  but  he  managed  to  say  calmly 
enough : 

483 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"We've  got  the  entire  estate  to  roam  over  if  they 
bore  us." 

"Will  you  take  me  for  a  walk  on  Sunday?" 

"Yes,  if  you  would  care  to  go." 

"Haven't  I  invited  you  to  take  me?" 

"Have  you  really,  Jacqueline?" 

"Yes.     Good-bye.     I  will  be  waiting  for  you  at  five." 

She  returned  to  her  desk,  the  flush  slowly  cooling  in 
her  cheeks;  and  she  was  just  resuming  her  seat  when 
a  clerk  brought  Clydesdale's  card. 

"I  could  see  Mr.  Clydesdale  now,"  she  said,  glanc 
ing  over  the  appointment  list  on  her  desk.  Her  smile 
had  died  out  with  the  colour  in  her  cheeks,  and  her 
beautiful  eyes  grew  serious  and  stern.  For  the  name 
that  this  man  bore  was  associated  in  her  mind  with  ter 
rible  and  unspeakable  things.  Never  again  could  she 
hear  that  name  with  equanimity;  never  recall  it  un 
moved.  Yet,  now,  she  made  an  effort  to  put  from  her 
all  that  menaced  her  composure  at  the  mere  mention 
of  that  name — strove  to  think  only  of  the  client  and 
kindly  amateur  who  had  treated  her  always  with  un 
varying  courtesy  and  consideration. 

He  came  in  grinning,  as  usual,  and  she  took 
his  extended  and  highly-coloured  paw,  smiling  her 
greeting. 

"Is  it  a  little  social  visit,  Mr.  Clydesdale,  or  have  you 
discovered  some  miracle  of  ancient  Cathay  which  you 
covet?" 

"It's— my  wife." 

Her  smile  fled  and  her  features  altered  to  an  expres 
sionless  and  colourless  mask.  For  a  second  there  was 
a  gleam  of  fear  in  her  eyes,  then  they  grew  cold  and 
clear  and  blue  as  arctic  ice. 

484, 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

He  remained  standing,  the  grin  stamped  on  his  san 
guine  features.  Presently  he  said,  heavily : 

"I  have  come  to  you  to  make  what  reparation  I  can 
— in  my  wife's  name — in  her  behalf.  Our  deep  humilia 
tion,  deeper  contrition,  are  the  only  reparation  we  can 
offer  you.  It  is  hard  for  me  to  speak.  My  wife  is  at 
home,  ill.  Arid  she  can  not  rest  until  she  has  told  you, 
through  me,  that — that  what  she  said  to  you  the  last 
time  she  saw  you — here,  in  this  office — was  an  un 
truth." 

Jacqueline,  dazed,  merely  stared  at  him.  He  bent 
his  head  and  seemed  to  be  searching  in  his  mind  for 
words.  He  found  them  after  a  while. 

"Yes,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "what  my  wife  said, 
and  what  she  permitted  you  to  infer — concerning  her 
self  and — Mr.  Desboro — was  utterly  untrue.  God 
alone  knows  why  she  said  it.  But  she  did.  I  could 
plead  extenuation  for  her — if  your  patience  permits. 
She  is  naturally  very  nervous ;  she  did  care  a  great  deal 
for  Mr.  Desboro;  she  did,  at  that  time,  really  dislike 
me,"  he  added  with  a  quiet  dignity  which  made  every 
word  he  uttered  ring  out  clear  as  a  shot.  And  Jacque 
line  seemed  to  feel  their  impact  on  her  very  heart. 

He  said:  "There  are  other  circumstances — painful 
ones.  She  had  been  for  months — even  years — in  fear 
of  blackmail — terrorised  by  it  until  she  became  morbid. 
I  did  not  know  this.  I  was  not  aware  that  an  indiscreet 
but  wholly  innocent  escapade  of  her  youth  had  fur 
nished  this  blackmailer  with  a  weapon.  I  understand 
now,  why,  caring  as  she  did  for  Mr.  Desboro,  and  ex 
cited,  harassed,  terrified,  exasperated,  she  was  willing 
to  make  an  end  of  it  with  him  rather  than  face  possible 
disgrace  with  me  for  whom  she  did  not  care.  It  is  no 

485 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

excuse.  She  offers  none.  I  offer  none  for  her.  Noth 
ing — no  mental,  no  physical  state  could  excuse  what 
she  has  done.  Only — I  wish — and  she  wishes  you  to 
know  that  she  has  been  guilty  of  permitting  you  to, 
believe  a  monstrous  untruth  which  would  have  consigned 
her  to  infamy  had  it  been  true,  and  absolutely  damned 
the  man  you  have  married." 

She  strove  to  comprehend  this  thing  that  he  was  say 
ing — tried  to  realise  that  he  was  absolutely  clearing 
her  husband  of  the  terrible  and  nameless  shadow  which, 
she  knew  now,  never  could  have  entirely  fled  away,  ex 
cept  for  the  mercy  of  God  and  the  words  of  humiliation 
now  sounding  in  her  ears. 

She  stared  at  him.  And  the  terrible  thing  was  that 
he  was  grinning  still — grinning  through  all  the  agony 
of  his  shame  and  dreadful  abasement.  And  she  longed 
to  turn  away — to  shut  out  his  face  from  her  sight.  But 
dared  not. 

"That  is  all,"  he  said  heavily.  "Perhaps  there  is  a 
little  more  to  say — but  it  will  leave  you  indifferent,  very 
naturally.  Yet,  may  I  say  that  this — this  heartbreak 
ing  crisis  in  her  life,  and — in  mine — has — brought  us 
together?  And — a  little  more.  My  wife  is  to  become 
a  mother.  Which  is  why  I  venture  to  hope  that  you 
will  be  merciful  to  us  both  in  your  thoughts.  I  do  not 
ask  for  your  pardon,  which  you  could  never  give " 

"Mr.  Clydesdale !"  She  had  risen,  trembling,  both 
little  hands  flat  on  the  desk  top  to  steady  her,  and  was 
looking  straight  at  him. 

"I — my  thoughts —  she  stammered  "are  not 

cruel.  Say  so  to  your  wife.  I — I  have  never  thought 
mercilessly.  Every  instinct  within  me  is  otherwise.  And 
I  know  what  suffering  is.  And  I  do  not  wish  it  for 

486 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

anybody.  Say  so  to  your  wife,  and  that  I  wish  her — 
happiness — with  her  baby." 

She  was  trembling  so  that  he  could  scarcely  control 
between  his  two  huge  fists  the  little  hand  that  he 
saluted  in  wordless  gratitude  and  grief. 

Then,  without  looking  at  her  again,  or  speaking,  he 


'I — I  have  never  thought  mercilessly'  " 


went  his  way.  And  she  dropped  back  into  her  chair, 
the  tears  of  sheer  happiness  and  excitement  flowing  un 
checked. 

But  she  was  permitted  no  time  to  collect  her 
thoughts,  no  solitude  for  happy  tears,  and,  at  the  clerk's 
sharp  knocking,  she  dried  her  eyes  hastily  and  bade  him 
enter. 

The  card  he  laid  on  her  desk  seemed  to  amaze  her. 
487 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"That  man!"  she  said  slowly.  "Is  he  here,  Mr. 
Mirk?" 

"Yes,  madam.  He  asks  for  one  minute  only,  saying 
that  it  is  a  matter  of  most  desperate  importance  to 
you " 

"To  me?" 

"Yes,  madam." 

Again  she  looked  at  Mr.  Waudle's  card. 

"Bring  him,"  she  said  crisply.  And  the  blue  light 
ning  flashed  in  her  eyes. 

When  Mr.  Waudle  came  in  and  the  clerk  had  gone 
and  closed  the  door,  Jacqueline  said  quietly: 

"I'll  give  you  one  minute,  Mr.  Waudle.     Proceed." 

"I  think,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  out  of  his  inflamed 
eyes,  "that  you'll  feel  inclined  to  give  me  more  than 
that  when  you  understand  what  I've  got  in  this  packet." 
And  he  drew  from  his  overcoat  pocket  a  roll  of  galley 
proofs. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  looking  calmly  into  his  dan 
gerous  red  eyes. 

"It's  a  story,  set  up  and  in  type — as  you  see.  And 
it's  about  your  husband  and  Mrs.  Clydesdale — if  you 
want  to  know." 

A  shaft  of  fear  struck  straight  through  her.  Then, 
in  an  instant  the  blanched  cheeks  flushed  and  the  blue 
eyes  cleared  and  sparkled. 

"What  is  it  you  wish?"  she  asked  in  a  curiously  still 
voice. 

"I'll  tell  you ;  don't  worry.  I  want  you  to  stop  this 
man  Clydesdale,  and  stop  him  short.  I  don't  care  how 
you  do  it;  do  it,  that's  all.  He's  bought  and  paid  for 
certain  goods  delivered  to  him  by  me.  Now  he's  squeal 
ing.  He  wants  his  money  back.  And — if  he  gets  it 

488 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

back  this  story  goes  in.    Want  me  to  read  it  to  you?" 

"No.  What  is  it  you  wish  me  to  do — deceive  Mr. 
Clydesdale?  Make  him  believe  that  the  remainder  of 
the  jades  and  rose-quartz  carvings  are  genuine?" 

"It  looks  good  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Waudle  more  cheer 
fully.  "It  sounds  all  right.  You  threw  us  down;  it's 
up  to  you  to  pick  us  up." 

"I  see,"  she  said  pleasantly.  "And  unless  I  do  you 
are  intending  to  publish  that — story?" 

"Sure  as  hell!"  he  nodded. 

She  remained  silent  and  thoughtful  so  long  that  he 
began  to  hitch  about  in  his  chair  and  cast  furtive,  side 
long  glances  at  her  and  at  the  curtained  walls  around 
the  room.  Suddenly  his  face  grew  ghastly. 

"Look  here !"  he  whispered  hoarsely.  "Is  this  a 
plant?" 

"What?" 

"Is  there  anybody  else  in  this  room?"  He  lurched 
to  his  feet  and  waddled  hastily  around  the  four  walls, 
flinging  aside  the  green  velvet  curtains.  Only  the  con 
cealed  pictures  were  revealed;  and  he  wrent  back  to  his 
chair,  removing  the  cold  sweat  from  his  forehead  and 
face  with  his  sleeve. 

"By  God!"  he  said.  "For  a  moment  I  thought  you 
had  done  me  good  and  plenty.  But  it  wouldn't  have 
helped  you!  They've  got  this  story  in  the  office,  and 
the  minute  I'm  pinched,  in  it  goes!  Understand?" 

"No,"  she  said  serenely,  "but  it  doesn't  really  mat 
ter.  You  may  go  now,  Mr.  Waudle." 

"Hey?" 

"Must  I  ring  for  a  clerk  to  put  you  out?" 

"Oh!  So  that's  the  game,  is  it?  Well,  I  tell  you 
that  you  can't  bluff  me,  little  lady !  Let's  settle  it  now." 

489 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"No,"  she  said.     "I  must  have  time  to  consider." 

"How  long?" 

"An  hour  or  two." 

"You'll  make  up  your  mind  in  two  hours?" 

"Yes." 

"All  right,"  he  said,  almost  jovially.  "That  suits 
me.  Call  me  up  on  the  'phone  and  tell  me  what  you 
decide.  My  number  is  on  my  card." 

She  looked  at  the  card.  It  bore  his  telephone  num 
ber  and  his  house  address. 

He  seemed  inclined  to  linger,  evidently  with  the  idea 
of  tightening  his  grip  on  her  by  either  persuasion  or  bul 
lying,  as  her  attitude  might  warrant.  But  she  touched 
the  bell  and  Mr.  Mirk  appeared;  and  the  author  of 
"Black  Roses"  took  himself  off  perforce,  with  many  a 
knowing  leer,  both  threatening  and  blandishing. 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  she  called  up  her  husband. 
Very  quietly,  but  guardedly,  she  conversed  with  him  for 
a  few  moments. 

When  she  hung  up  the  receiver  she  was  laughing. 
But  it  was  otherwise  with  Desboro. 

"Cairns,"  he  said,  turning  from  the  telephone  to  his 
associate,  "there's  a  silly  fellow  bothering  my  wife.  If 
you  don't  mind  my  leaving  the  office  for  a  few  minutes 
I'll  step  around  and  speak  to  him."  His  usually  agree 
able  features  had  grown  colourless  and  ugly,  but  his 
voice  sounded  casual  enough. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Jim?     Murder?" 

Desboro  laughed. 

"I'll  be  gone  only  a  few  minutes,"  he  said. 

"It  could  be  done  in  a  few  minutes,"  mused  Cairns. 
"Do  you  want  me  to  go  with  you?" 


490 


THE  BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

"No,  thanks."  He  picked  up  his  hat,  nodded  curtly, 
and  went  out. 

Mr.  Waudle  and  Mr.  Munger  maintained  a  "den," 
literary  and  otherwise,  in  one  of  the  new  studio  build 
ings  just  east  of  Lexington  Avenue.  This  was  the  ad 
dress  Mr.  Waudle  had  left  for  Jacqueline;  to  this  des 
tination  Desboro  now  addressed  himself.  Thither  an 
itinerant  taxicab  bore  him  on  shaky  springs.  He  paid 
the  predatory  chauffeur,  turned  to  enter  the  building, 
and  met  Clydesdale  face  to  face,  entering  the  same 
doorway. 

"Hello !"  said  the  latter  with  a  cheerful  grin.  "Where 
are  you  bound?" 

"Oh,  there's  a  man  hereabouts  with  whom  I  have  a 
few  moments'  business." 

"Same  here,"  observed  Clydesdale. 

They  entered  the  building  together,  and  both  walked 
straight  through  to  the  elevator. 

"Mr.  Waudle,"  said  Clydesdale  briefly  to  the  youth 
in  charge.  "You  need  not  announce  me." 

Desboro  looked  at  him  curiously,  and  caught  Clydes 
dale's  eyes  furtively  measuring  him. 

"Odd,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "but  my  business  is  with 
the  same  man." 

"I  was  wondering." 

They   exchanged  perfectly   inexpressive  glances. 

"Couldn't  your  business  wait?"  inquired  Desboro 
politely. 

"Sorr}r,  Desboro,  but  I  was  a  little  ahead  of  you  *n 
the  entry,  I  think." 

The  car  stopped. 

"Studio  twenty,"   said  the  boy ;  slammed  the  gates, 


491 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

and  shot  down  into  dimly  lighted  depths  again,  leaving 
the  two  men  together. 

"I  am  wondering,"  mused  Clydesdale  gently, 
"whether  by  any  chance  your  business  with  this — ah — 
Mr.  Waudle  resembles  my  business  with  him." 

They  looked  at  each  other. 

Desboro  nodded :  "Very  probably,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Oh!  Then  perhaps  you  might  care  to  be  present 
at  the  business  meeting,"  said  Clydesdale,  "as  a  specta 
tor,  merely,  of  course." 

"Thanks,  awfully.  But  might  I  not  persuade  you 
to  remain  as  a  spectator " 

"Very  good  of  you,  Desboro,  but  I  need  the — ah — 
exercise.  Really,  I've  gone  quite  stale  this  winter. 
Don't  even  keep  up  my  squash." 

"Mistake,"  said  Desboro  gravely.  "  'Fraid  you'll 
overdo  it,  old  chap." 

"Oh,  I'll  have  a  shy  at  it,"  said  Clydesdale  cheer 
fully.  "Very  glad  to  have  you  score,  if  you  like." 

"If  you  insist,"  replied  the  younger  man  courteously. 

There  was  a  bell  outside  Studio  No.  20.  Desboro 
punched  it  with  the  ferrule  of  his  walking  stick ;  and 
when  the  door  opened,  somewhat  cautiously,  Clydesdale 
inserted  his  huge  foot  between  the  door  and  the  sill. 

There  was  a  brief  and  frantic  scuffle;  then  the  poet 
fled,  his  bunch  of  frizzled  hair  on  end,  and  the  two  men 
entered  the  apartment. 

To  the  left  a  big  studio  loomed,  set  with  artistic 
furniture  and  bric-a-brac  and  Mr.  Waudle — the  latter 
in  motion.  In  fact,  he  was  at  that  moment  in  the  proc 
ess  of  rushing  at  Mr.  Clydesdale,  and  under  full  head 
way. 

492 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

Whenever  Mr.  Waudle  finally  obtained  sufficient  mo 
mentum  to  rush,  he  appeared  to  be  a  rather  serious 
proposition ;  for  he  was  as  tall  as  Clydesdale  and  very 
much  fatter,  and  his  initial  velocity,  combined  with  his 
impact  force  per  square  inch  might  have  rivalled  the 
dynamic  problems  of  the  proving  ground. 

Clydesdale  took  one  step  forward  to  welcome  him, 
and  Waudle  went  down  like  thunder. 

Then  he  got  up,  went  down  immediately;  got  up, 
went  down,  stayed  down  for  an  appreciable  moment; 
arose,  smote  the  air,  was  smitten  with  a  smack  so  ter 
rific  that  the  poet,  who  was  running  round  and  round 
the  four  walls,  squeaked  in  sympathy. 

Waudle  sat  up  on  the  floor,  his  features  now  an 
unrecognisable  mess.  He  was  crying. 

"I  say,  Desboro,  catch  that  poet  for  me — there's  a 
good  ch^p,"  said  Clydesdale,  breathing  rather  hard. 

The  Cubist,  who  had  been  running  round  and  round 
like  a  frantic  rabbit,  screamed  and  ran  the  faster. 

"Oh,  just  shy  some  bric-a-brac  at  him  and  come 
home,"  said  Desboro  in  disgust. 

But  Clydesdale  caught  him,  seated  himself,  jerked 
the  devotee  of  the  moon  across  his  ponderous  knees, 
and,  grinning,  hoisted  on  high  the  heavy  hand  of  jus 
tice.  And  the  post-impressionistic  literature  of  the 
future  shrieked. 

"Very  precious,  isn't  it?"  panted  Clydesdale.  "You 
dirty  little  mop  of  hair,  I  think  I'll  spank  you  into 
the  future.  Want  a  try  at  this  moon-pup,  Desboro? 
No  ?  Quite  right ;  you  don't  need  the  exercise.  Whew !" 
And  he  rolled  the  writhing  poet  off  his  knees  and  onto 
the  floor,  sat  up  breathing  hard  and  grinning  around 
him. 

493 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"Now  for  the  club  arid  a  cold  plunge — eh,  Desboro? 
I  tell  you  it  puts  life  into  a  man,  doesn't  it?  Perhaps, 
while  I'm  about  it,  I  might  as  well  beat  up  the  other 
one  a  little  more " 

"My  God!"  blubbered  Waudle. 

"Oh,  very  well — if  you  feel  that  way  about  it," 
grinned  Clydesdale.  "But  you  understand  that 
you  won't  have  any  sensation  to  feel  with  at 
all  if  you  ever  again  even  think  of  the  name  of 
Mrs.  Clydesdale." 

He  got  up,  still  panting  jovially,  pleased  as  a  great 
Dane  puppy  who  has  shaken  an  old  shoe  to  fragments. 

At  the  door  he  paused  and  glanced  back. 

"Take  it  from  me,"  he  said  genially,  "if  we  ever  come 
back,  we'll  kill." 

In  the  street  once  more,  they  lingered  on  the  side 
walk  for  a  moment  or  two  before  separating.  Clydes 
dale  drew  off  his  split  and  ruined  gloves,  rolled  them 
together  and  tossed  them  into  the  passing  handcart  of  a 
street  sweeper. 

"Unpleasant  job,"  he  commented. 

"I  don't  think  you'll  have  it  to  do  over  again," 
smiled  Desboro. 

"No,  I  think  not.  And  thank  you  for  yielding  so 
gracefully  to  me.  It  was  my  job.  But  you  didn't 
miss  anything;  it  was  like  hitting  a  feather  bed.  No 
sport  in  it — but  had  to  be  done.  Well,  glad  to  have 
seen  you  again,  Desboro." 

They  exchanged  grips ;  both  flushed  a  trifle,  hesi 
tated,  nodded  pleasantly  to  each  other,  and  separated. 

At  the  office  Cairns  inspected  him  curiously  as  he 
entered,  but,  as  Desboro  said  nothing,  he  asked  no 

494 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

questions.  A  client  or  two  sauntered  in  and  out.  At 
one  o'clock  they  lunched  together. 

"I  understand  you're  coming  up  for  the  week  end," 
said  Desboro. 

"Your  wife  was  good  enough  to  ask  me." 

"Glad  you're  coming.  Old  Herrendene  has  been 
'ordered  to  Governor's  Island.  He  expects  to  stop  with 
the  Lindley  Hammertons  over  Sunday." 

"That  Daisy  girl's  a  corker,"  remarked  Cairns, 
" — only  I've  always  been  rather  afraid  of  her." 

"She's  a  fine  girl." 

"Rather  in  Herrendene's  class — lots  of  character," 
nodded  Cairns  thoughtfully.  "Having  none  myself,  she 
always  had  me  backed  up  against  the  rail." 

After  a  silence,  Desboro  said:  "That  was  a  ghastly 
break  of  mine  last  night." 

"Rotten,"  said  Cairns  bluntly. 

The  painful  colour  rose  to  Desboro's  temples. 

"It  will  be  the  last,  Jack.  I  lived  a  thousand  years 
last  night." 

"I  lived  a  few  hundred  myself,"  said  Cairns  reproach 
fully.  "And  what  a  thoroughbred  your  wife  is !" 

Desboro  nodded  and  drew  a  deep,  unsteady  breath. 

"Well,"  he  said,  after  a  few  moments,  "it  is  a  ter 
rible  thing  for  a  man  to  learn  what  he  really  is.  But 
if  he  doesn't  learn  it  he's  lost." 

Cairns  assented  with  a  jerk  of  his  head. 

"But  who's  to  hold  up  the  mirror  to  a  man?"  he 
asked.  "When  his  father  and  mother  shove  it  under 
his  nose  he  won't  look ;  when  clergy  or  laymen  offer  him 
a  looking-glass  he  shuts  his  eyes  and  tries  to  kick 
them.  That's  the  modern  youngster — the  product  of 
this  modern  town  with  its  modern  modes  of  thought." 

495 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"The  old  order  of  things  was  the  best,"  said  Des- 
boro.  "Has  anybody  given  us  anything  better  than 
what  they  reasoned  us  into  discarding — the  old  gentle 
ness  of  manners,  the  quaint,  stiff  formalisms  now  out 
of  date,  the  shyness  and  reticence  of  former  days,  the 
serenity,  the  faith  which  is  now  unfashionable,  the  old- 
time  reverence?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Cairns,  "what  we've  gained  in 
the  discard.  I  look  now  at  the  cards  they  offer  us 
to  take  up,  and  there  is  nothing  on  them.  And  the 
game  has  forced  us  to  throw  away  what  we  had."  He 
caressed  his  chin  thoughtfully.  "The  only  way  to  do 
is  to  return  to  first  principles,  cut  a  fresh  pack,  never 
mind  new  rules  and  innovations,  but  play  the  game  ac 
cording  to  the  decalogue.  And  nobody  can  call  you 
down."  He  reddened,  and  added  honestly :  "That's  not 
entirely  my  own,  Jim.  There  are  some  similar  lines 
in  a  new  play  which  Miss  Lessler  and  I  were  reading 
this  morning." 

"Reading?     Where?" 

"Oh,  we  walked  through  the  Park  together  rather 
early — took  it  easy,  you  know.  She  read  aloud  as  we 
walked." 

"She  is  coming  for  the  week  end,"  said  Desboro. 

"I  believe  so." 

Desboro,  lighting  a  cigarette,  permitted  his  very  ex 
pressionless  glance  to  rest  on  his  friend  for  the  briefest 
fraction  of  a  second. 

"The  papers,"  he  said,  "speak  of  her  work  with 
respect." 

"Miss  Lessler,"  said  Cairns,  "is  a  most  unusual  girl." 

Neither  men  referred  to  the  early  days  of  their  ac 
quaintance  with  Cynthia  Lessler.  As  though  by  tacit 

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THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

agreement  those  days  seemed  to  have  been  entirely  for 
gotten. 

"A  rarely  intelligent  and  lovely  comedienne,"  mused 
Cairns,  poking  the  cigar  ashes  on  the  tray  and  finally 
laying  aside  his  cigar.  "Well,  Jim,  I  suppose  the  of 
fice  yawns  for  us.  But  it  won't  have  anything  on  my 
yawn  when  I  get  there!" 

They  went  back  across  Fifth  Avenue  in  the  brilliant 
afternoon  sunshine,  to  dawdle  about  the  office  and  fuss 
away  the  afternoon  in  pretense  that  the  awakening  of 
the  Street  from  its  long  lethargy  was  imminent. 

At  half  past  three  Cairns  took  himself  off,  leaving 
Desboro  studying  the  sunshine  on  the  ceiling.  At  five 
the  latter  awoke  from  his  day  dream,  stood  up,  shook 
himself,  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  straightened  his  shoul 
ders.  Before  him,  now  delicately  blurred  and  charm 
ingly  indistinct,  still  floated  the  vision  of  his  day 
dream  ;  and,  with  a  slight  effort,  he  could  still  visualise, 
as  he  moved  out  into  the  city  and  through  its  noise  and 
glitter,  south,  into  that  quieter  street  where  his  day 
dream's  vision  lived  and  moved  and  had  her  earthly  be 
ing. 

Mr.  Mirk  came  smiling  and  bowing  from  the  dim  in 
terior.  There  was  no  particular  reason  for  the  demon 
stration,  but  Desboro  shook  his  hand  cordially. 

"Mrs.  Desboro  is  in  her  office,"  said  Mr.  Mirk.  "You 
know  the  way,  sir — if  you  please " 

He  knew  the  way.  It  was  not  likely  that  he  would 
ever  forget  the  path  that  he  had  followed  that  winter 
day. 

At  his  knock  she  opened  the  door  herself. 

"I  don't  know  how  I  knew  it  was  your  knock,"  she 
said,  giving  ground  as  he  entered.  There  was  an  ex- 

497 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

pression  in  his  face  that  made  her  own  brighten,  as 
though  perhaps  she  had  not  been  entirely  certain  in 
what  humour  he  might  arrive. 

"The  car  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes,"  he  said. 
"That's  a  tremendously  pretty  hat  of  yours." 

"Do  you  like  it?  I  saw  it  the  other  day.  And 
somehow  I  felt  extravagant  this  afternoon  and  tele 
phoned  for  it.  Do  you  really  like  it,  Jim?" 

"It's  a  beauty." 

"I'm  so  glad — so  relieved.  Sometimes  I  catch  you 
looking  at  me,  Jim,  and  I  wonder  how  critical  you 
really  are.  I  want  you  to  like  what  I  wear.  You'll  al 
ways  tell  me  when  you  don't,  won't  you  ?" 

"No  fear  of  my  not  agreeing  with  your  taste,"  he 
said  cheerfully.  "By  the  way — and  apropos  of  noth 
ing — Waudle  won't  bother  you  any  more." 

"Oh!" 

"I  believe  Clydesdale  interviewed  him — and  the  other 
one — the  poet."  He  laughed.  "Afterward  there  was 
not  enough  remaining  for  me  to  interview." 

Jacqueline's  serious  eyes,  intensely  blue,  were  lifted 
to  his. 

"We  won't  speak  of  them  again,  ever,"  she  said  in 
a  low  voice. 

"Right,   as   always,"  he   rejoined   gaily. 

She  still  stood  looking  at  him  out  of  grave  and 
beautiful  eyes,  which  seemed  strangely  shy  and  tender 
to  him.  Then,  slowly  shaking  her  head  she  said,  half 
to  herself: 

"I  have  much  to  answer  for — more  than  you  must 
ever  know.  But  I  shall  answer  for  it ;  never  fear." 

"What  are  you  murmuring  there  all  by  yourself, 
Jacqueline?"  he  said  smilingly;  and  ventured  to  take 

498 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

her  gloved  hand  into  his.  She,  too,  smiled,  faintly,  and 
stood  silent,  pretty  head  bent,  absorbed  in  her  own 
thoughts. 

A  moment  later  a  clerk  tapped  and  announced  their 
car.  She  looked  up  at  her  husband,  and  the  confused 
colour  in  her  face  responded  to  the  quick  pressure  of 
his  hands. 

"Are  you  quite  ready  to  go?"  he  asked. 

"Yes — ready   always — to   go   where — you   lead." 

Her  flushed  face  reflected  the  emotion  in  his  as  they 
went  out  together  into  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 

"Have  we  time  to  motor  to  Silverwood?"  she  asked. 

"Would   you   care  to?" 

"I'd  love  to." 

So  he  spoke  to  the  chauffeur  and  entered  the  car 
after  her. 

It  was  a  strange  journey  for  them  both,  with  the 
memory  of  their  last  journey  together  still  so  fresh, 
so  pitilessly  clear,  in  their  minds.  In  this  car,  over  this 
road,  beside  this  man,  she  had  travelled  with  a  breaking 
heart  and  a  mind  haunted  by  horror  unspeakable. 

To  him  the  memory  of  that  journey  was  no  less  ter 
rible.  They  spoke  to  each  other  tranquilly  but  seri 
ously,  and  in  voices  unconsciously  lowered.  And  there 
were  many  lapses  into  stillness — many  long  intervals  of 
silence.  But  during  the  longest  of  these,  when  the 
Westchester  hills  loomed  duskily  ahead,  .she  slipped  her 
hand  into  his  and  left  it  there  until  the  lights  of  Silver- 
wood  glimmered  low  on  the  hill  and  the  gate  lanterns 
flashed  in  their  eyes  as  the  car  swung  into  the  fir- 
bordered  drive  and  rolled  up  to  the  house. 

"Home,"  she  said,  partly  to  herself;  and  he  turned 
toward  her  in  quick  gratitude. 

501 


THE    BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

Once  more  the  threatened  emotion  confused  her,  but 
she  evaded  it,  forcing  a  gaiety  not  in  accord  with  her 
mood,  as  he  aided  her  to  descend. 

"Certainly  it's  my  home,  monsieur,  as  well  as  yours," 
she  repeated,  "and  you'll  feel  the  steel  under  the  velvet 
hand  of  femininity  as  soon  as  I  assume  the  reins  of 
government.  For  example,  you  can  not  entertain  your 
cats  and  dogs  in  the  red  drawing-room  any  more.  Now 
do  you  feel  the  steel?" 

They  went  to  their  sitting-room  laughing. 

About  midnight  she  rose  from  the  sofa.  They  had 
been  discussing  plans  for  the  future,  repairs,  altera 
tions,  improvements  for  Silverwood  House — and  how 
to  do  many,  many  wonderful  things  at  vast  expense; 
and  how  to  practice  rigid  economy  and  do  nothing  at 
all. 

It  had  been  agreed  that  he  was  to  give  up  his  rooms 
in  town  and  use  hers  whenever  they  remained  in  New 
York  over  night.  And,  as  she  rose,  he  was  still  figuring 
out,  with  pencil  and  pad,  how  much  they  would  save 
by  this  arrangement.  Now  he  looked  up,  saw  her  stand 
ing,  and  rose  too. 

She  looked  at  him  with  sweet,  sleepy,  humourous 
eyes. 

"Isn't  it  disgraceful  and  absurd?"  she  said.  "But 
if  I  don't  have  my  sleep  I '  simply  become  stupid  and 
dreary  and  useless  beyond  words." 

"Why  did  you  let  me  keep  you  up?"  he  said  gently. 

"Because  I  wanted  to  stay  up  with  you,"  she  said. 
She  had  moved  to  the  centre  table  where  the  white  car 
nations,  as  usual,  filled  the  bowl.  Her  slender  hand 
touched  them  caressingly,  lingered,  and  presently  de 
tached  a  blossom. 

502 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

She  lifted  it  dreamily,  inhaling  the  fragrance  and 
looking  over  its  scented  chalice  at  him. 

"Good-night,  Jim,"  she  said. 

"Good-night,  dearest."  He  came  over  to  her,  hesi 
tated,  reddening;  then  bent  and  kissed  her  hand  and 
the  white  flower  it  held. 

At  her  own  door  she  lingered,  turning  to  look  after 
him  as  he  crossed  his  threshold ;  then  slowly  entered  her 
room,  her  lips  resting  on  the  blossom  which  he  had 
kissed. 


CHAPTER  XX 

ON  Saturday  afternoon  Cynthia  arrived  at  Silver- 
wood  House,  with  Cairns  in  tow ;  and  they  were 
welcomed    under   the    trees    by    their   host    and 
hostess.     Which  was  all  very  delightful  until  Cynthia 
and  Jacqueline  paired  off  with  each  other  and  disap 
peared,  calmly  abandoning  Cairns  and  Desboro  to  their 
own  devices,  leaving  them  to  gaze  at  each  other  in  the 
library  with  bored  and  increasing  indifference. 

"You  know,  Jim,"  explained  the  former,  in  un 
feigned  disgust,  "I  have  quite  enough  of  you  every 
day,  and  I  haven't  come  sixty  miles  to  see  more  of 
you." 

"I  sympathise  with  your  sentiments,"  said  Desboro, 
laughing,  "but  Miss  Lessler  has  never  before  seen  the 
place,  and,  of  course,  Jacqueline  is  dying  to  show  it  to 
her.  And,  Jack — did  you  ever  see  two  more  engaging 
young  girls  than  the  two  who  have  just  deserted  us? 
Really,  partiality  aside,  does  any  house  in  town  con 
tain  two  more  dignified,  intelligent,  charming " 

"No,  it  doesn't!"  said  Cairns  bluntly.  "Nor  any 
two  women  more  upright  and  chaste.  It's  a  fine  text, 
isn't  it,  though?"  he  added  morosely. 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"That  their  goodness  is  due  to  their  characters,  not 
to  environment  or  to  any  material  advantages.  Has  it 
ever  occurred  to  you  how  doubly  disgraceful  it  is  for 
people,  with  every  chance  in  the  world,  not  to  make 
good?" 

504, 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Yes." 

"It  has  to  me  frequently  of  late.  And  I  wonder 
what  I'd  have  turned  into,  given  Cynthia's  worldly 
chances."  He  shook  his  head,  muttering  to  himself: 
"It's  fine,  fine — to  be  what  she  is  after  what  she  has 
had  to  stack  up  against!" 

Desboro  winced.     Presently  he  said  in  a  low  voice : 

"The  worst  she  had  to  encounter  were  men  of  our 
sort.  That's  a  truth  we  can't  blink.  It  wasn't  loneli 
ness  or  poverty  or  hunger  that  were  dangerous ;  it  was 
men." 

"Don't,"  said  Cairns,  rising  impatiently  and  strid 
ing  about  the  room.  "I  know  all  about  that.  But  it's 
over,  God  be  praised.  And  I'm  seeing  things  differ 
ently  now — very,  very  differently.  You  are,  too,  I  take 
it.  So,  for  the  love  of  Mike,  let's  be  pleasant  about  it. 
I  hate  gloom.  Can't  a  fellow  regenerate  himself  and 
remain  cheerful?" 

Desboro  laughed  uncertainly,  listening  to  the  gay 
voices  on  the  stairs,  where  Jacqueline  and  Cynthia  were 
garrulously  exploring  the  house  together. 

"Darling,  it's  too  lovely!"  exclaimed  Cynthia,  every 
few  minutes,  while  Jacqueline  was  conducting  her  from 
one  room  to  another,  upstairs,  down  again,  through 
the  hall  and  corridor,  accompanied  by  an  adoring  multi 
tude  of  low-born  dogs  and  nondescript  cats,  all  run 
ning  beside  her  with  tails  stuck  upright. 

And  so,  very  happily  together,  they  visited  the 
kitchen,  laundry,  storeroom,  drying  room,  engine  room, 
cellars ;  made  the  fragrant  tour  of  the  greenhouses  and 
a  less  fragrant  visit  to  the  garage ;  inspected  the  water 
supply ;  gingerly  traversed  the  gravel  paths  of  the 

505 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

kitchen  garden,  peeped  into  tool  houses,  carpenters' 
quarters ;  gravely  surveyed  compost  heaps,  manure  pits, 
and  cold  frames. 

Jacqueline  pointed  out  the  distant  farm,  with  its 
barns,  stables,  dairy,  and  chicken  runs,  from  the  lantern 
of  the  windmill,  whither  they  had  climbed ;  and  Cynthia 
looked  out  over  the  rolling  country  to  the  blue  hills 
edging  the  Hudson,  and  down  into  gray  woodlands 
where  patches  of  fire  signalled  the  swelling  maple  buds ; 
and  edging  willows  were  palely  green.  Over  brown 
earth  and  new  grass  robins  were  running ;  and  bluebirds 
fluttered  from  tree  to  fencepost. 

Cynthia's  arm  stole  around  Jacqueline's  waist. 

"I  am  so  glad  for  you — so  glad,  so  proud,"  she 
whispered.  "Do  you  remember,  once,  long  ago,  I 
prophesied  this  for  you?  That  you  would  one  day 
take  your  proper  place  in  the  world?" 

"Do  you  know,"  mused  Jacqueline,  "I  don't  really 
believe  that  the  place  matters  so  much — as  long  as  one 
is  all  right.  That  sounds  horribly  priggish — but  isn't 
it  so,  Cynthia?" 

"Few  ever  attain  that  self-sufficient  philosophy,"  said 
Cynthia,  laughing.  "You  can  spoil  a  gem  by  cheap 
setting." 

"But  it  remains  a  gem.  Oh,  Cynthia!  Am  I  such 
a  prig  as  I  sound?" 

They  were  both  laughing  so  gaily  that  the  flock  of 
pigeons  on  the  roof  were  startled  into  flight  and  swung 
around  them  in  whimpering  circles. 

As  they  started  to  descend  the  steep  stairs,  Jacque 
line  said  casually : 

"Do  you  continue  to  find  Mr.  Cairns  as  agreeable 
and  interesting  as  ever?" 

506 


THE  BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

"Oh,  yes,"  nodded  the  girl  carelessly. 

"Jim  likes  him  immensely." 

"He  is  a  very  pleasant  companion,"  said  Cynthia. 

When  they  were  strolling  toward  the  house,  she 
added : 

"He  thinks  you  are  very  wonderful,  Jacqueline.  But 
then  everybody  does." 

The  girl  blushed:  "The  only  thing  wonderful  about 
me  is  my  happiness,"  she  said. 

Cynthia  looked  up  into  her  eyes. 

"Are  you?" 

"Happy?     Of  course." 

"Is  that  quite  true,   dear?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jacqueline  under  her  breath. 

"And— there  is  no  flaw?" 

"None — now." 

Cynthia  impulsively  caught  up  one  of  her  hands 
and  kissed  it. 

In  the  library  they  found  beside  their  deserted  swains 
two  visitors,  Daisy  Hammerton  and  Captain  Herren- 
dene. 

"Fine  treatment!"  protested  Cairns,  looking  at  Cyn 
thia,  as  Jacqueline  came  forward  with  charming  friend 
liness  and  greeted  her  guests  and  made  Cynthia  known 
to  them.  "Fine  treatment!"  he  repeated  scornfully, 
" — leaving  Jim  and  me  to  yawn  at  each  other  until 
Daisy  and  the  Captain  yonder " 

"Jack,"  interrupted  his  pretty  hostess,  "if  you  push 
that  button  somebody  will  bring  tea." 

"Twice  means  that  Scotch  is  to  be  included,"  re 
marked  Desboro.  "You  didn't  know  that,  did  you, 
dear?" 

"The  only  thing  I  know  about  your  house,  monsieur, 
507 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

is  that  your  cats  and  dogs  must  not  pervade  the  red 
drawing-room,"  she  said  laughing.  "Look  at  Captain 
Herrendene's  beautiful  cutaway  coat!  It's  all  covered 
with  fur  and  puppy  hair!  And  now  he  can't  go  into 
the  drawing-room,  either !" 

Cairns  looked  ruefully  at  a  black  and  white  cat 
which  had  jumped  onto  his  knees  and  was  purring  her 
self  to  sleep  there. 

"If  enough  of  'em  climb  on  me  I'll  have  a  motor  coat 
for  next  winter,"  he  said  with  resignation. 

Tea  was  served;  the  chatter  and  laughter  became 
general.  Daisy  Hammerton,  always  enamoured  of  lit 
erature,  and  secretly  addicted  to  its  creation,  spoke  of 
Orrin  Munger's  new  volume  which  Herrendene  had  been 
reading  to  her  that  morning  under  the  trees. 

"Such  a  queer  book,"  she  said,  turning  to  Jacqueline, 
" — and  I'm  not  yet  quite  certain  whether  it's  silly  or 
profound.  Captain  Herrendene  makes  fun  of  it — but 
it  seems  as  though  there  must  be  some  meaning  in  it." 

"There  isn't,"  said  Herrendene.  "It  consists  of  a 
wad  of  verse,  blank,  inverted,  and  symbolic.  Carbolic 
is  what  it  requires." 

"Isn't  that  the  moon-youth  who  writes  over  the  heads 
of  the  public  and  far  ahead  of  'em  into  the  next  cen 
tury?"  inquired  Cairns. 

"When  an  author,"  said  Herrendene,  "thinks  he  is 
wrriting  ahead  of  his  readers,  the  chances  are  that  he 
hasn't  yet  caught  up  with  them." 

The  only  flaw  in  Daisy  Hammerton's  good  sense  was 
a  mistaken  respect  for  printed  pages.  She  said,  rev 
erently  : 

"When  a  poet  like  Orrin  Hunger  refers  to  himself  as 
a  Cubist  and  a  Futurist,  it  must  have  some  occult  sig- 

508 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

nificance.     Besides,  he  went  about  a  good  deal  last  win 
ter,  and  I  met  him." 

"What  did  you  think  of  him?"  asked  Desboro  drily. 

"I  scarcely  knew.  He  is  odd.  He  kissed  everybody's 
hand  and  spoke  with  such  obscurity  about  his  work — 
referred  to  it  in  such  veiled  terms  that,  somehow,  it  all 
seemed  a  wonderful  mystery  to  me." 

Desboro  smiled :  "The  man  who  is  preeminent  in  his 
profession,"  he  said  quietly,  "never  makes  a  mystery  of 
it.  He  may  be  too  tired  to  talk  about  it,  too  saturated 
with  it,  after  the  day's  work,  to  discuss  it;  but  never 
fool  enough  to  pretend  that  there  is  anything  occult 
in  it  or  in  the  success  he  has  made  of  it.  Only  incom- 
petency  is  self-conscious  and  secretive ;  only  the  ass 
strikes  attitudes." 

Jacqueline  looked  at  him  with  pride  unutterable.  She 
thought  as  he  did. 

He  smiled  at  her,  encouraged,  and  went  on: 

"The  complacent  tickler  of  phrases,  the  pseudo-in 
tellectual  scrambler  after  subtleties  that  do  not  exist, 
the  smirking  creators  of  the  tortuous,  the  writhing  ex 
plorers  of  the  obvious,  who  pretend  to  find  depths  where 
there  are  shallows,  the  unusual  where  only  the  common 
place  and  wholesome  exist — these  will  always  parody 
real  effort,  and  ape  real  talent  in  all  creative  profes 
sions,  and  do  more  damage  than  mere  ignorance  or 
even  mere  viciousness  could  ever  accomplish.  And,  to 
my  mind,  that  is  all  there  is  and  all  there  ever  will  be 
to  men  like  Munger." 

Daisy  laughed  and  looked  at  Herrendene. 

"Then  I've  wasted  your  morning!"  she  said,  pretend 
ing  contrition. 

He  looked  her  straight  in  the  eye. 
509 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  it  that  way,"  he  said  pleasantly. 

Cairns,  tired  of  feigning  an  interest  in  matters 
literary,  tinkled  the  ice  in  his  glass  and  looked  appeal- 
ingly  at  Cynthia.  And  his  eyes  said  very  plainly: 
"Shall  we  go  for  a  walk?" 

But  she  only  smiled,  affecting  not  to  understand; 
and  the  discussion  of  things  literary  continued. 

It  was  very  pleasant  there  in  the  house;  late  sun 
shine  slanted  across  the  hall;  a  springlike  breeze  flut 
tered  the  curtains,  and  the  evening  song  of  the  robins 
had  begun,  ringing  cheerily  among  the  Norway  spruces 
and  over  the  fresh  green  lawns. 

"It's  a  shame  to  sit  indoors  on  a  day  like  this,"  said 
Desboro  lazily. 

Everybody  agreed,  but  nobody  stirred,  except 
Cairns,  who  fidgeted  and  looked  at  Cynthia. 

Perhaps  that  maiden's  heart  softened,  for  she  rose 
presently,  and  drifted  off  into  the  music  room.  Cairns 
followed.  The  others  listened  to  her  piano  playing, 
conversing,  too,  at  intervals,  until  Daisy  gave  the  sig 
nal  to  go,  and  Herrendene  rose. 

So  the  adieux  were  said,  and  a  wood  ramble 
for  the  morrow  suggested.  Then  Daisy  and  her 
Captain  went  away  across  the  fields  on  foot,  and  Cyn 
thia  returned  to  the  piano,  Cairns  following  at  heel,  as 
usual. 

Jacqueline  and  Desboro,  lingering  by  the  open  door, 
saw  the  distant  hills  turn  to  purest  cobalt,  and  the  gird 
ling  woodlands  clothe  themselves  in  purple  haze.  Dusk 
came  stealing  across  the  meadows,  and  her  frail 
ghosts  floated  already  over  the  alder-hidden  brook.  A 
near  robin  sang  loudly.  A  star  came  out  between  naked 
branches  and  looked  at  them. 

510 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

"How  still  the  world  has  grown,"  breathed  Jacque 
line.  "Except  for  its  silence,  night  with  all  its  beauties 
would  be  unendurable." 

"I  believe  we  both  need  quiet,"  he  said. 

"Yes,   quiet — and   each  other." 

Her  voice  had  fallen  so  exquisitely  low  that  he  bent 
his  head  to  catch  her  words.  But  when  he  understood 
what  she  had  said,  he  turned  and  looked  at  her ;  and, 
still  gazing  on  the  coming  night,  she  leaned  a  little 
nearer  to  him,  resting  her  cheek  lightly  against  his 
shoulder. 

"That  is  what  we  need,"  she  whispered,  " — silence, 
and  each  other.  Don't  you  think  so,  Jim?" 

"I  need  you — your  love  and  faith  and — forgiveness," 
he  said  huskily. 

"You  have  them  all.     Now  give  me  yours,  Jim." 

"I  give  you  all — except  forgiveness.  I  have  nothing 
to  forgive." 

"You  dear  boy — you  don't  know — you  will  never 
know  how  much  you  have  to  forgive  me.  But  if  I 
told  you,  I  know  you'd  do  it.  So — let  it  rest — forgot 
ten  forever.  How  fragrant  the  night  is  growing !  And 
I  can  hear  the  brook  at  intervals  when  the  wind  changes 
— very  far  away — very  far — as  far  as  fairyland — as 
far  as  the  abode  of  the  Maker  of  Moons." 

"Who  was  he,  dear?" 

"Yu  Lao.  It's  Chinese — and  remote — lost  in  mys 
tery  eternal — where  the  white  soul  of  her  abides  who 
went  forth  'between  tall  avenues  of  spears,  to  die.'  And 
that  is  where  all  things  go  at  last,  Jim — even  the  world 
and  the  moon  and  stars — all  things — even  love — re 
turning  to  the  source  of  all." 

His  arm  had  fallen  around  her  waist.  Presently,  in 
511 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

the  dusk,  he  felt  her  cool,  fresh  hand  seeking  for  his, 
drawing  his  arm  imperceptibly  closer. 

In  the  unlighted  music  room  Cynthia's  piano  was 
silent. 

Presently  Jacqueline's  cheek  touched  his,  rested 
against  it. 

"I  never  knew  I  could  feel  so  safe,"  she  murmured. 
"I  am — absolutely — contented." 

"Do  you  love  me?" 

"Yes." 

"You  have  no  fear  of  me  now?" 

"No.  But  don't  kiss  me — yet,"  she  whispered,  tight 
ening  his  arm  around  her. 

He  laughed  softly :  "Your  Royal  Shyness  is  so  won 
derful — so  wonderful — so  worshipful  and  adorable ! 
When  may  I  kiss  you?" 

"When — we   are  alone." 

"Will  you  respond — when  we  are  alone?" 

But  she  only  pressed  her  flushed  cheek  against  his 
shoulder,  clinging  there  in  silence,  eyes  closed. 

A  few  seconds  later  they  started  guiltily  apart,  as 
Cairns  came  striding  excitedly  out  of  the  darkness : 

"I'm  going  to  get  married !  I'm  going  to  get  mar 
ried!"  he  repeated  breathlessly.  "I've  asked  her,  but 
she  is  crying !  Isn't  it  wonderful !  Isn't  it  wonderful ! 
Isn't  it  won " 

"You!"  exclaimed  Jacqueline,  "and  Cynthia!  The 
darling!" 

"I  said  she  was  one!  I  called  her  that,  too!"  said 
Cairns,  excitedly.  "And  she  began  to  cry.  So  I  came 
out  here — and  I  think  she's  going  to  accept  me  in  a 
minute  or  two  !  Isn't  it  wonderful !  Isn't  it  won " 

"You  lunatic!"  cried  Desboro,  seizing  and  shaking 

512 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

him,  " — you  incoherent  idiot!     If  that  girl  is  in  there 
crying  all  alone,  what  are  you  doing  out  here?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Cairns  vacantly.  "I  don't  know 
what  I'm  doing.  All  this  is  too  wonderful  for  me.  I 
thought  she  knew  me  too  well  to  care  for  me.  But  she 
only  began  to  cry.  And  I  am  going " 

He  bolted  back  into  the  dark  music  room.  Desboro 
and  Jacqueline  gazed  at  each  other. 

"That  man  is  mad !"  snapped  her  husband.  "But — 
I  believe  she  means  to  take  him.  Don't  you?" 

"Why — I  suppose  so,"  she  managed  to  answer,  sti 
fling  a  violent  inclination  to  laugh. 

They  listened  shamelessly.  They  stood  there  for  a 
long  while,  listening.  And  at  last  two  shadowy  figures 
appeared  coming  toward  them  very  slowly.  One 
walked  quietly  into  Jacqueline's  arms ;  the  other  at 
tempted  it  with  Desboro,  and  was  repulsed. 

"You're  not  French,  you  know,"  said  the  master  of 
the  house,  shaking  hands  with  him  viciously.  "Never 
did  I  see  such  a  blooming  idiot  as  you  can  be — but  if 
Cynthia  can  stand  you,  I'll  have  to  try." 

Jacqueline  whispered:  "Cynthia  and  I  want  to  be 
alone  for  a  little  while.  Take  him  away,  Jim." 

So  Desboro  lugged  off  the  happy  but  demoralised 
suitor  and  planted  him  in  a  library  chair  vigorously. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "how  about  it?  Has  she  accepted 
you?" 

"She  hasn't  said  a  word  yet.  I've  done  nothing  but 
talk  and  she's  done  nothing  but  listen.  It  knocked  me 
galley  west,  too.  But  it  happened  before  I  realised  it. 
She  was  playing  on  the  piano,  and  suddenly  I  knew  that 
I  wanted  to  marry  her.  And  I  said  'You  darling !'  And 
she  grew  white  and  began  to  cry." 

513 


THE   BUSINESS    OF   LIFE 

"Did  you  ask  her  to  marry  you?" 

"About   a   thousand  times."  • 

"Didn't   she  say  anything?" 

"Not  a  word." 

"That's    odd,"    said   Desboro,    troubled. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  clock  struck. 

"Come  on,  anyway,"  he  said,  "we've  scarcely  time  to 
dress." 

In  his  room  later,  tying  his  tie,  Cairns'  uncertainty 
clouded  his  own  happiness  a  little ;  and  when  he  emerged 
to  wait  in  the  sitting-room  for  Jacqueline,  he  was  still 
worrying  over  it. 

When  Jacqueline  opened  her  door  and  saw  his  per 
plexed  and  anxious  face,  she  came  forward  in  her  pretty 
dinner  gown,  startled,  wondering. 

"What  is  it,  Jim?"  she  asked,  her  heart,  still  sensi 
tive  from  the  old,  healed  wounds,  sinking  again  in  spite 
of  her. 

"I'm  worried  about  that  girl 

"What  girl!" 

"Cynthia " 

"Oh!  That!  ,Jim,  you  frightened  me!"  She  laid 
one  hand  on  her  heart  for  a  moment,  breathed  deeply 
her  relief,  then  looked  at  him  and  laughed. 

"Silly!     Of  course  she  loves  him." 

"Jack  says  that  she  didn't  utter  a  word " 

"She  uttered  several  to  me.  Rather  foolish  ones,  Jim 
— about  her  life's  business — the  stage — and  love.  As 
though  love  and  the  business  of  life  were  incompatible! 
Anyway,  she'd  choose  him." 

"Is  she  going  to  accept  him?" 

"Of  course  she  is.  I — I  don't  mean  it  in  criticism — 
and  I  love  Cynthia — but  I  think  she  is  a  trifle  tempera- 

514 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

mental — as  well  as  being  the  dearest,  sweetest  girl  in 
the  world " 

She  took  his  arm  with  a  pretty  confidence  of  owner 
ship  that  secretly  thrilled  him,  and  they  went  down 
stairs  together,  she  talking  all  the  while. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you?"  she  whispered,  as  they  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  library  in  passing,  where  Cairns  stood 
holding  Cynthia's  hands  between  his  own  and  kissing 
them.  "Wait,  Jim,  darling!  You  mustn't  interrupt 
them " 

"I'm  going  to!"  he  said,  exasperated.  "I  want  to 
know  what  they're  going  to  do " 

"Jim!" 

"Oh,  all  right,  dear.  Only  they  gave  me  a  good 
scare  when  I  wanted  to  be  alone  with  you." 

She  pressed  his  arm  slightly: 

"You  haven't  noticed  my  gown." 

"It's  a  dream!"  He  kissed  her  shoulder  lace,  and 
she  flushed  and  caught  his  arm,  then  laughed,  discon 
certed  by  her  own  shyness. 

Farris  presented  himself  with  a  tray  of  cocktails. 

"Jack !  Come  on  !"  called  Desboro ;  and,  as  that  gen 
tleman  sauntered  into  view  with  Cynthia  on  his  arm, 
something  in  the  girl's  delicious  and  abashed  beauty 
convinced  her  host.  He  stretched  out  his  hand; 
she  took  it,  looking  at  him  out  of  confused  but  sincere 
eyes. 

"Is  it  all  right  to  wish  you  happiness,  Cynthia?" 

"It  is  quite  all  right — thank  you." 

"And  to  drink  this  H.  P.  W.  to  your  health  and  hap 
piness?" 

"That,"  she  said  laughingly,  "is  far  more  serious. 
But — you  may  do  so,  please." 

515 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

The  ceremony  ended,  Desboro  said  to  Jacqueline, 
deprecatingly : 

"This  promises  to  be  a  jolly,  but  a  rather  noisy,  din 
ner.  Do  you  mind?" 

And  it  was  both — an  exceedingly  jolly  and  unusually 
noisy  dinner  for  four.  Jacqueline  and  Cynthia  both 
consented  to  taste  the  champagne  in  honour  of  this  oc 
casion  only ;  then  set  aside  their  glasses,  inflexible  in 
their  prejudice.  Which  boded  well  for  everybody  con 
cerned,  especially  to  two  young  men  to  whom  any 
countenance  of  that  sort  might  ultimately  have  proved 
no  kindness. 

And  Jacqueline  was  as  wise  as  she  was  beautiful ;  and 
Cynthia's  intuition  matched  her  youthful  loveliness, 
making  logic  superfluous. 

Feeling  desperately  frivolous  after  coffee,  they 
lugged  out  an  old-time  card  table  and  played  an 
old-time  game  of  cards — piquet — gambling  so 
recklessly  that  Desboro  lost  several  cents  to  Cairns 
before  the  evening  was  over,  and  Jacqueline  felt  that 
she  had  been  dreadfully  and  rather  delightfully  im 
prudent. 

Then  midnight  sounded  from  the  distant  stable  clock, 
and  every  timepiece  in  the  house  echoed  the  far  West 
minster  chimes. 

Good-nights  were  said;  Jacqueline  went  away  with 
Cynthia  to  the  latter's  room;  Desboro  accompanied 
Cairns,  and  endured  the  latter's  rhapsodies  as  long  as 
he  could,  ultimately  escaping. 

In  their  sitting-room  Jacqueline  was  standing  beside 
the  bowl  of  white  carnations,  looking  down  at  them. 
When  he  entered  she  did  not  raise  her  head  until  he 
took  her  into  his  arms.  Then  she  looked  up  into  his 

516 


THE   BUSINESS   OF  LIFE 

eyes  and  lifted  her  face.  And  for  the  first  time  her 
warm  lips  responded  to  his  kiss. 

She  trembled  a  little  as  he  held  her,  and  laid  her 
cheek  against  his  breast,  both  hands  resting  on  his 
shoulders.  After  a  while  he  was  aware  that  her  heart 
was  beating  as  though  she  were  frightened. 

"Dearest,"  he  whispered. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"Dearest?" 

He  could  feel  her  trembling. 

After  a  long  while  he  said,  very  gently :  "Come  back 
and  say  good-night  to  me  when  you  are  ready,  dear." 
And  quietly  released  her. 

And  she  went  away  slowly  to  her  room,  not  looking 
at  him.  And  did  not  return. 

So  at  one  o'clock  he  turned  off  the  lights  and  went 
into  his  own  room.  It  was  bright  with  moonlight.  On 
his  dresser  lay  a  white  carnation  and  a  key.  But  he 
did  not  see  them. 

Far  away  in  the  woods  he  heard  the  stream  rushing, 
bank  full,  through  the  darkness,  and  he  listened  as 
he  moved  about  in  the  moonlight.  Tranquil,  he  looked 
out  at  the  night  for  a  moment,  then  quietly  composed 
himself  to  slumber,  not  doubting,  serene,  happy,  con 
vinced  that  her  love  was  his. 

For  a  long  while  he  thought  of  her;  and,  thinking, 
dreamed  of  her  at  last — so  vividly  that  into  his  vision 
stole  the  perfume  of  her  hair  and  the  faint  fresh  scent 
of  her  hands,  as  when  he  had  kissed  the  slender  fingers. 
And  the  warmth  of  her,  too,  seemed  real,  and  the  sweet-' 
ness  of  her  breath. 

His  eyes  unclosed.  She  lay  there,  in  her  frail  Chinese 
robe,  curled  up  beside  him  in  the  moonlight,  her  splen- 

517 


THE   BUSINESS   OF   LIFE 

did  hair  framing  a  face  as  pale  as  the  flower  that  had 
fallen  from  her  half-closed  hand.  And  at  first  he 
thought  she  was  asleep. 

Then,  in  the  moonlight,  her  eyes  opened  divinely, 
met  his,  lingered  unafraid,  and  were  slowly  veiled  again. 
Neither  stirred  until,  at  last,  her  arms  stole  up  around 
his  neck  and  her  lips  whispered  his  name  as  though  it 
were  a  holy  name,  loved,  honoured,  and  adored. 

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